The Brisk Dungeon Air
by Poppyseed7
Summary: Hermione is suffering at the hands of fate, but once she becomes the new DADA professor 3 years after the war, she discovers that her life didn't have to be as bleak as it had become. With the help of a time-turner & the subject of a certain portrait, Hermione decides to save those who did not need to be lost. Rated M for graphic content and eventual smut. SSHG/Slowburn/HurtComfort
1. Preface

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for bothering to take a look at my work! In this preface, I will be graphically discussing topics such as self hate, harm and suicide, as well as battle wounds and in-battle death. If any of these topics bother or trigger you, please take care of yourself and steer clear of this preface or brace yourself if you feel confident. There is another A/N at the end of this preface for more details about the rest of the story to come!

JKR owns all Harry Potter… lucky her...

Thank you so much, and enjoy!

-Cherry

~SSHG~

Preface

The Golden Duo

Hermione's flat in Hogsmeade was a cozy one, and close to work too, as she had just quit her job in Hogsmeade and was now the new Professor of Defense at Hogwarts. It's the second year that the wizarding world has known peace since the defeat of Voldemort at the hands of her best friend, Harry Potter, and therefore the second year that Hogwarts has been in commision under the command of Headmaster Minerva McGonagall, and the second year that the position of Defense teacher has been left open, save for the multiple substitutes that have tried, and soon fled, the position.

Minerva had been desperate and called in a favor.

Hermione was only too happy to oblige.

For her, the last two years had been nearly as bad as wartime itself, the last year in particular. She'd been offered positions at the Ministry of Magic, under multiple branches including the coveted Department of Mysteries, as well as the Auror office and Arthur Weasley's branch, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. She'd been offered jobs outside of the country as well, in the American Magical government as well as doing work for multiple agencies working against any future rise of Dark Magic, and even teaching at Ilvermorny or Beauxbatons.

But she'd turned down every single one. Worse yet, she'd went ahead and got herself a job- one that wasn't nearly as stimulating- and one that she'd just quit to take up her new teaching position... one she should've quit a year and a half ago.

Currently, it was her last day working at Gladrags Wizardwear after a year and a half on the job. It was a good shop with good clothes, good coworkers, good salary, and even good customers. But damn Merlin to hell if she didn't loathe her job. It wasn't that it was a bad job either, it just was not a job fit for Hermione Granger.

Everyone, including herself, expected her life to be full of opportunities and chances for greatness- for Hermione to show the world exactly what she was made of and exactly who was the real reason Harry Potter hadn't gotten expelled or had turned himself inside out from a poorly cast spell. The war, however, ensured that she would have different plans.

She was doing fine, or rather as fine as one could be when one saw their loved ones being slaughtered left and right and was helpless to prevent it, when she breached the final tipping point and her mind began to slip from her in the Shrieking Shack. She was present, along with Harry and Weasley, as they hid from the sight of their former Potions Professor as he confronted a fearsome Lord Voldemort. She watched as the man they had once all feared- one whom nobody crossed, one who was as solid as the ground she stood upon, and one to whom danger was rarely considered a threat compared the massive amount of logic and purpose he could put into his actions to counter whatever threat lay before him, and one whom never, ever, was out of his range- beg like a child for his own life to his master, then have it yanked away from him in one of the most horrible, brutal, and inhuman ways Hermione would see even in the midst of that wretched war.

He had been a loyal follower to Voldemort, followed his every command and even killed Albus Dumbledore in the name of his Dark Lord, and that same Dark Lord took his life without even the slightest trace of remorse or second thought to his actions.

Then they, the three of them, had approached him, mangled, bleeding, and dying- and it was like she was meeting him for the first time.

He was lying on his back, bleeding profusely from his neck which was partly a cavity of bloody shreds beneath his head, thanks to Voldemort's cursed snake. His skin was paling as she watched, and blood oozed out of him by the litre, but then she saw the look on his face. He was, in that moment, completely unguarded, vulnerable, and very, very much human- very, very unlike the man she'd known while he taught her and her peers from a podium at the front of a classroom. He looked at each of them, but more specifically Harry, as though he was about to apologize to each of them for dying in front of them, as though he wanted to ask for help but was either too weak or too ashamed to ask. When he had looked at her, even though it was for a brief moment, her heart had stopped, and she saw that it wasn't just someone dying in front of her- it was a man who had felt something while he lived, who had a story and a purpose and meaning, and who had just had all of those things stolen from him by a madman who just wanted power and saw him as just another stone to cast out of his way in the process. She saw, for a fraction of a second, into those deep, black eyes, seeing them less as the caves of malice that she first saw them as and more as now-unguarded gateways into a very scared man, and seeing also, a man who had no idea if he was still alone, even in the midst of the trio in front of him.

Then he had spoken, and Hermione nearly had an aneurysm.

"_Look...at...me…"_

Only three words, that's all it took, for Hermione's mind to be trapped in the folds of Post-Traumatic Stress for the next few years of her life. Those words had confirmed her most recent thought: that, indeed, he was looking to not be alone, for once, in his final moments. That he wanted a glimpse of something, of someone, one last time as he faded away. That a glimpse of solace was all he wanted in his final moments.

That one fact about Severus Snape's death had royally screwed over Hermione Granger.

Now, every death in the war became the death of a human with a purpose who didn't want to be alone. Now every death was brutal and vicious, and every murderer needed to be put to the same fate as their victims. Now, to Hermione, every step around every corner sent pulses of fear into her veins, every opportunity that was given to her by someone was just an opportunity for failure and betrayal and, dare she admit it, perhaps even death. Every effort she made to move sent a jolt of pain through her head that just reminded her that it was easier to deal with the pain if she would sit down and relax. The night would always come with darkness, which remained a promise of fear and potential for harm and, worse yet, nightmares. Nightmares of the night of May the second of 1998, particularly those moments she spent staring at her dying Professor.

But that's not what kept her down the entire time.

She'd been to a Muggle psychiatrist, one who'd had experience with the wizarding world, and had been diagnosed with PTSD from the war. Harry had eventually told her and Weasley about the memories Snape had given him, which only made her point of view on the Professor more pitiful and made her nightmares about him worse. She'd also eventually be diagnosed with depression, as would Weasley, nearly a year after the war. That was when the two of them decided, without the consent of their counselors, to move in with each other.

They'd rented a small flat in a more wizarding-dominated part of London, nestled between Diagon Alley and a bookstore that Hermione had favorited years before. It was a perfect home with the possibilities of the future, for both of them, looking bright. They were both already getting job offers, which they were both looking forward to looking into once their multiple issues got handled, at least in part. Hermione, on one hand, had decided to take a job in Diagon Alley, working part-time at Flourish and Blotts, to keep herself busy, while Weasley had decided it was better for him to have some alone time at home to sort through his brain. Weasley, turns out, didn't sort through much, but, rather, sank into it.

He'd been put on an antidepressant potion, but had stopped taking it without telling Hermione. He'd spend the days crying and feeling hopeless, feeling like a waste of space and money in his own home, and feeling like without the war he'd be just another nobody, and feeling with the war, he'd become guilty for all the deaths that had happened around him. His nights were plagued with the screams of his friends as they were slaughtered, and his days packed with thoughts of how he could've been of more use rather than been a worthless tag-along sidekick to Harry Potter.

At least, Hermione had found this out in his suicide note. Which he had left on her night table, in their bedroom, where she had found him, four feet away from her side of the bed that they shared, with slashes cut into his wrists and neck.

That was what made everything worse.

She had kissed all the letters asking for her resume goodbye that afternoon. She'd gone to Harry, which had been helpful, but any moment of silence just reminded her of the member of their trio who would never be with them again. She wanted to be with her parents, but they were in Australia, their minds having been permanently altered by Hermione to not include her at all before the start of the war. She went to the funeral, but only stayed for a few minutes before she forced herself to leave after Molly screamed at her, telling her it was all her fault for some reason or other. She didn't really hear the woman, in fact she didn't hear much at all.

That had been a year ago. They'd only been living together for six months before Weasley had changed his title in her mind from his first name to his last. Even though so much time had passed, the Prophet couldn't get enough of "Weeping Granger" who was teetering on the edge of sanity and following in her dead boyfriend's footsteps, or "The Golden Duo", as they were now referred to as, getting together in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade for lunch and their afternoon being dubbed as another chronicle in the Potter-Granger "love through death" romance.

She could vomit just seeing the goddamn rag of a newspaper sitting in a trashcan.

Now that she had moved and created a small but stable life for herself, with Harry's help of course, she had income and she had people to support her. And now that Professor McGonagall had confirmed her position, she had a reason to get out of bed starting tomorrow, August fifth.

She had been a couch potato in her normal life away from work, not bothering to get out at all except to get groceries or to meet Harry, and sometimes Ginny if she tagged along with him. She had Crookshanks, but there was only so many activities one could do with a cat. But now that her position at Hogwarts was confirmed, she could start looking forward to having that magnificent library at her disposal again. She could plan her curriculum, grade papers, work with students, and even have staff-level access to materials and portions of the castle that she'd never had before.

She was finally excited about something, and the fact that she was finally excited about something made her excited, which also made Harry excited, which made Ginny excited, which also made her concerned boss at Gladrags excited, which made Minerva excited once Hermione told her how excited they all were.

And damn it all if she wasn't due for some good fortune.

~SSHG~

A/N: Hey and thanks for reading all the way through (if you did)! This is my first fanfic ever, so constructive criticism is fully wanted and welcome! As I mentioned in the summary, this fic will have mature, graphic content with everything from sexual content to battles to suicide to self harm and hate. That said, I'm not making this completely depressing, so don't lose hope. This is an angsty fic, but I'll make it worth your while- I'll make the Unbreakable Vow if necessary! I will also be posting A/N's at the beginning of every chapter if there's any content that might be dodgy for some readers to read. I might also change the description (Romance/Angst) of this story or the title according to how things turn out on the road ahead. The romance part will stay, for those Snamione fans digging around for some more content, so don't worry! I'll keep you posted on what happens to change.

Also, I will be posting as often as I can (every 1-2 weeks at least), but I also have University to attend, so be aware that school priorities are a thing that need to be taken care of.

Please review! I would love to hear everything that you guys have to say!

Happy reading!

-Cherry


	2. Chapter 1: The First of its Kind

A/N: Mentions of depression and suicide. Not terribly detailed, but it's there.

Chapter 1

The First of Its Kind

It had been nearly a year. Nearly a full year of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she wasn't dead yet.

She was quite glad.

According to the myth, most Defense teachers barely last a year, as her own schooling testified, and any who lasted more than that had their days numbered. So far, she didn't feel an inkling of fear or the tap of fate upon her shoulder. Instead, she felt great.

It had been years since Hermione had felt this good. She was constantly moving, getting sunlight, talking to fellow staff members and students, grading papers, creating her curriculum, and ensuring that her students learn as best as they could. Hell, she even managed to get a good walk around the lake once in a while before breakfast. And she felt _so _much better for it. She still had nightmares, and she still dealt with bouts of depression, but she had taken initiative and gotten an antidepressant potion every month from Draco Malfoy, who was the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, and had Crookshanks and a bottle of Dreamless Sleep by her bedside each night just in case of an emergency situation.

Oh, yes, Draco was there. Or rather, just "Malfoy" as she commonly referred to him. She was surprised to see that he was teaching at Hogwarts (she was sure somebody had mentioned this to her and she had not managed to let the fact sink in), which was a position that she had deemed too far below him for him to consider. But, alas, there he was, in the new Potions room, far from the dungeons where they'd had their own Potions lessons, teaching away in a confident yet rather gentle style that Hermione couldn't believe he was capable of. Within her first few months at Hogwarts, she'd managed to gain the gumption to confront Malfoy to ask him about his new position, only to find out he was just as nervous to talk to her as she was to him. Turns out, Malfoy had had a complete turnaround and a new lease on life, thanks to his new girlfriend and the turnout of the war. He'd learned how wrong his anti-Muggleborn upbringing had been, and now that his parents were locked within the walls of Azkaban for the next ten years, he was free to live life and have biases as he pleased, which happened to be far different than the life or biases he was raised with. Hermione was happy to find that now that Malfoy's prejudices were close to nonexistent, she could not only tolerate him, but had forged a friendship with him that kept her going out of the classroom. He'd become her new Harry, in a way, since Harry wasn't at her constant disposal.

She kept in contact with Harry, naturally, and owled him every week with news on how her classes were going, how Malfoy and, eventually, his new girlfriend were doing, and news on her students and the news implementations Minerva had planned for the curriculum across the entirety of Hogwarts. Harry was always happy to hear that she was doing well, and was equally happy to supply her with his own news about his job at the Auror Office and how he and Ginny were doing. Close to the end of the school year, he even announced that he and Ginny were to get married the following November. She was happy for them, naturally, but it didn't stop the pang in the empty cavity in her heart where Weasley should've been. It only made the nightmares with him in them more painful.

The first time she'd had a nightmare on campus was about three months into her first school year. It was just as bad, if not worse, than its predecessors. When she woke, sweaty, out of breath, shaking, and screaming, she took a calming draught and promptly sent her Patronus to Malfoy asking for help the second she felt the effects kick in. She didn't want to launch into a full panic attack when she had to teach classes for the entirety of the next day.

Malfoy came to her in a few minutes, asking her what was wrong. She told him about her nightmares, about her experience with Professor Snape in particular, and she could feel the stiffening of Malfoy's back as she mentioned his late godfather.

"His funeral was something else," Malfoy told her, even though she hadn't asked, "The only people who were there were a few of the Slytherins and some staff members. It was only after Potter released the details of his memories to the public that I found droves of people at his grave. Not to mention all the pathetic gifts and shit they left piled over his tombstone."

"I never really liked him, per say," Hermione added, "But I always knew there was something about him, something that made him more human than any of us. I suppose he let that bit of him show, in the Shack I mean," she took a shaky breath, "I mean it was Harry he was talking to… and looking at…"

"Granger, listen," Malfoy turned to her, sitting on the bed beside her and taking her hands in a show of affection that would later come naturally to the two of them the more they leaned on each other for support, "You know you couldn't have helped him, right? That this war… he was fighting it and knew the risks just as well as we did. He was as already gone when you saw him, and nothing could've changed that. You understand?"

"Of course, I understand," Hermione wiped her nose, refusing to inform him that even though she _understood_, it still felt good to be able to hear it out loud. "I just wish it didn't have to happen. He could've made a life for himself. Something beyond the pair of megalomaniacs he served all those years."

"No shit," Malfoy sighed, "Even those who got the chance to do just that squandered it without a second thought." At the mention of that, Hermione's mind instantly went to Weasley, and the dam broke, letting a flood of tears come down in trails of salt water prodded out of her eyes by heaving sobs, "Oh, fuck...Granger, I'm sorry...shit…"

Malfoy pulled her hands up so she could lace them around his neck. She grabbed onto him, desperate for comfort that she'd not really allowed herself, and let herself sob. She wanted it to be gone, the pain, the memories, all of it. She just wanted relief. And thank God for Malfoy, who was giving it to her.

The rest of the year consisted with at least a once-a-month nightly visit from Malfoy following one brutal nightmare after the next. Their contents were all the same now: Snape dying in the Shack, which his body morphing into Weasley's, him pleading for Hermione to end it… just end it all for me… I don't want this life anymore, 'Mione… I don't deserve it…

And each time she'd wake up, in a cold sweat, screaming at Ron… no, _Weasley_… to come back, to not slice himself, to not leave her. And each time, she'd take a calming draught and summon Malfoy, who'd hold her until her emotions were calmed enough to allow for a draught of Dreamless Sleep.

It was mid-April when her shift for night-patrol finally came up. She and Malfoy both were set to the schedule to patrol the castle from lights-out to one in the morning, which she was grateful for. She wasn't sure she could deal with patrolling the castle alone in the dark. Minerva understood Hermione's situation, she, after all, had seen the war just like Hermione and had her own plights to deal with because of it, and had scheduled Malfoy on purpose, bless her. The pair's second night in the castle was as uneventful as the first, until they heard whispers that did not belong to themselves coming from down a corridor. Hermione and Malfoy both pricked their ears, then Malfoy motioned for them to follow the sound. They placed night-seeing spells on each other's faces, then took off towards the voices.

It didn't take long before they were both taken down a familiar passageway that would lead them to the dungeons. Malfoy, apparently, thought nothing of it, but Hermione was whisked back to the past while her ears stayed pricked for sound in the present. She remembered walking this hall with Harry and Weasley, the boys talking about how horrible their Potions class was going to be, only to run into the very Professor they were shitting on in that very same hall. She wondered how many time Snape had walked up and down that hall, how many times he'd yelled at students in that hall… she nearly laughed in the middle of the deserted hallway. Since when had Snape's torment on herself and her peers become_ endearing_? She nearly pissed herself in an effort to keep her laughter at bay at the notion.

As they ventured further, she and Malfoy could hear the voices becoming more distinct. She recognized them as a couple of fifth years she had in one of her classes, and his rueful look in her direction told her that he recognized them as well. They were nearing their old Potions classroom now, and the smell was becoming more mildewy than it had been when the hall was in use. They must've completely deserted the place once Snape had died, she gathered.

Sure enough, there was the old Potions classroom door, ajar with wandlight peering from the crack. She and Malfoy stopped nearby it, hearing the whispers become more audible and understandable. They waited to see what damage was being done before they prosecuted the intruders.

"...this is the place where he taught," said a young girl's voice in awe, "My mother had him for Potions and said his voice could be as small as a mouse's squeak, but could resonate through the whole room like a gong."

_Accurate enough_, Hermione agreed internally.

"My father said he was a right git," said another female voice, this one higher pitched, "Said he'd take house points from anyone but the Slytherins for the most minor offences. Even if you were taking notes when he didn't want you to, whenever that bloody was… if you were a Gryffindor, you were never safe."

_Still accurate_, Hermione thought again. She traded a knowing look with Malfoy, who's expression on his pale face told her that he, too, was agreeing with the young trespassers.

"Oh! This must be his journal!" said the higher pitched girl, who Hermione was beginning to remember as Gwendolyn Bones.

"Puh-_lease_," a boy's voice suddenly chimed in, who she instantly recognized as being a first year that she'd tutored in her sixth, Brendan Casey. He was in his fifth year now, as well, "If he was a real spy, he never kept a journal. Those are probably just some old notes or some shit."

"Brendan, don't be so rude," said the other unidentified girl, "He's a war hero. You know this stuff is worth a lot."

_Ah, _Hermione smirked, _So that was their game. _She traded another knowing look with Malfoy, who looked ready to jump in the room at that moment and claim his godfather's soon-to-be-stolen property. She motioned for him to stay back; they'd need dirt on these kids if they were really going to steal anything, and they'd need more than just the knowledge that these children knew that Severus Snape's personal property was worth more than the cost of their schooling.

"You know full well that's not my problem, Lacy," Brendan huffed, "You all make him out to be a hero just because he's got a tragic backstory."

"He was in love with a woman who never loved him in return!" Lacy huffed back in the most annoying voice Hermione had ever heard, "He had to watch her die and then spend the rest of his life risking his cover just to protect her son!"

"He's saved so many lives, Brendan," a much calmer Gwendolyn added, "He told Harry Potter the secret to defeat Voldemort when Dumbledore wouldn't. If anything, Dumbledore's the git."

"Dumbledore _led_ the effort that Snape was fighting for," Brendan corrected and the lights moved further back into the classroom, "Snape was part of it by default. Sure he loved Lily Potter, great, but that doesn't mean he's a good person. And neither does trying to save Harry Potter. Couldn't you tell that Dumbledore had to goad him into it? Snape wouldn't have done anything if Lily Potter would've remained safe in the first place."

Hermione was intrigued by the conversation, but could see the childish flaw in it as well. As children do, they failed to see the full picture. She didn't bother correcting them in her head, she'd spent too much time thinking about the deceased man who once ruled over this part of the castle to brood on him whilst trying to catch students out past curfew. She chanced a peek inside while the threesome continued to talk about the dead Potions Master, and spied them by the podium and the row of cabinets and counters in the back of the room. Brendan, it seemed, was looking through the podium and out over the classroom, as if trying to imagine how Severus Snape once acted towards his class, while Lacy and Gwendolyn were pocketing old potions ingredients and books with notes stuffed inside from the cabinets above the counters. Without looking at him, Hermione tapped her left hand on Malfoy's arm quickly, signaling him to follow her as they invaded the trio's nighttime escapade as the two professors brandished their wands with two unspoken castings of _Lumos_.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Malfoy said in his most stern tone which Hermione assumed he reserved for his students alone, "But there's a store of ingredients in _my_ classroom as well, Miss Bones. Or did the three of you require something of a more… _rare_ variety?"

Hermione had to hold back a smile, in the theme of the moment she could hear Malfoy channeling the stern spirit of his godfather. It was working, too, do to the fear that latched on so quickly to both Lacy and Gwendolyn Bones that they dropped their ingredients and books with a series of loud thuds and cracks of glass on the stone floor.

"Ten points from Slytherin..._each_," Malfoy added at the looks of horror across each student's face, "Brendan, that's also ten points from Ravenclaw. Think I'd forget, did you?" Malfoy smirked at the boy, who looked about as rageous as his own Potions Master.

"You will all report to Headmistress McGonagall's office after breakfast tomorrow morning," Hermione instructed each of them, walking over to close the opened cabinet doors as the two girls sulked back to their Professor and fellow Slytherin, "If you are not there, there will be an extra week of detention along with whatever the Headmistress decides for you."

"_Extra_?" Brendan demanded, stepping away from the podium as Hermione brought her wand around to face him, "Aren't you lot supposed to punish us for this? The Headmistress doesn't get involved in cases like this."

"You would know, Casey," Malfoy growled at the boy, "But, for your information, you lot have not only been out of bed past curfew, you have also been stealing private property, which is more, at least in my opinion, than a detention-worthy offence."

Hermione saw Brendan Casey's eyes drop to the floor as Malfoy escorted them out. She stayed, as her fear of the dark was becoming less pronounced the more she taught in the dark castle, and looked around the old room. In fact, the classroom looked completely untouched since her own days as a student here four years ago. She could still see Professor Snape glowering down at them from the podium, or sweeping between the rows of tables assessing the damage they were all doing to their cauldrons. She smiled at the thought, then smiled wider at her own initial smile, thinking about how many braincells she must've lost to be recalling her horrid Potions classes as a fond memory rather than an absurd one.

She did wonder, though, why the room had never changed. It had been nearly three years since the war, and the dungeons of the castle had hardly been touched in the battle at Hogwarts, so why wouldn't anyone come down here? Why wouldn't anyone even use the rooms, already prepped for use? She looked around the room, assessing what was present. She saw the podium and the broken vials of ingredients cracked alongside the brittle books that lay toppled on the floor. She bent over to pick up the books, not being able to bear seeing a tome roughed up in such a way, ad caught a glimpse at one of the covers.

_Advanced Potion Making._ Her eyebrows raised in surprise. _So the bugger had kept it after all…_

Inside, just as she remembered, was the familiar spiky scrawl of Severus Snape, claiming the book to be "Property of the Half-Blood Prince". Below it, however, was a newer scrawling in that same handwriting which read, "Portraits reveal keys to the mind". She frowned at the note. Upon inspection, she saw there were no other notes on either inside cover, nor any that she could spot on the pages between them. She looked at the book, then to the room around her, then deposited the book back on the shelf- lest she become a hypocrite.

She was just shutting the dungeon door behind her when a chill swept through the air, sending one of its kind up her spine and making her shiver. It was an odd chill, not one that was necessarily cold per say, though the air down there was brisk to say the least, but a _good_ chill- like the kind one gets when someone touches a very sensitive spot on their body and all they can do is shiver in response. She'd never experienced any sensation of that particular kind down in the dungeons… but she supposed there was a first for everything. Hermione looked around, pulling her night cloak around her more snugly and keeping her wand out as she mentally reviewed the night's events to better recall them to Minerva tomorrow morning.

She didn't see the pair of eyes watching her from down the hall.

A/N: Hey everyone! A quick update, I know, but I was too excited to post it! The story may seem a little choppy right now, and I apologize if it was hard to keep up, but if you get the idea that Hermione and Draco are chums, they both teach at Hogwarts, and they found students in the dungeons past curfew, then you got what's truly important! More Draco and Hermione friendship coming up as well as some answers to a few questions. Why was Snape's Potions classroom still furnished? Why weren't his belongings taken out of the room? Why aren't the classrooms used? And who exactly was watching Hermione? You probably already have some educated guesses, but the answers are coming in the next chapter! Happy reading!

-Cherry


	3. Chapter 2: Resolutions

Chapter 2

Resolutions

1991

Severus was at the Headmaster's desk, sitting at the very chair that he hated most while being appraised by the most annoying pair of twinkling eyes he had ever encountered. It was his eleventh year at Hogwarts as Potions Master, and the position had greatly lost its shine over that time. Worse yet, his life was about to be made even bleaker by what events were about to transpire under his tutelage.

"What do you mean 'he's coming back'?" Severus demanded of the Headmaster, rage pulsing in his skull threatening to give him a heart attack, "Do you expect me to _teach_ him?"

"It is your job's description to teach, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him, a note of chipper enthusiasm tinting his voice in the exact way that made Severus extremely suspicious, "Need I remind you of that fact."

"Of course not, but this is…"

"And need I remind you," Dumbledore continued, beginning to add an accusing tone to his voice, "That Lily's son will need your help. He needs protection. If there is ever a threat at the school…"

"Which there _shouldn't_ be," Severus rose from his seat and twisted around the chair, holding the back of it as his robes billowed around him. He'd recently become accustomed to his long, draping robes, as it seemed to intimidate his students more, and the less he saw of those fools the better. His face was scrunched in rage, "Which _also_ has nothing to do with my teaching him! I can bloody well 'protect' him without having that repulsive responsibility…"

"It is _Lily's_ son, Severus," Dumbledore was instructing him now, making Severus roll his eyes in disdain, "Why wouldn't you want him to be taught by you? To live up to his mother's name...rather than his father's?"

Severus's eyes snapped up to meet the blue eyes of the Headmaster who no longer twinkled with amusement, but now bored into Severus with an icy glare of intention, though it did not make Severus waver as it used to ten years ago, "If he is anything like his mother, then he will not need my help," Severus declared through gritted teeth.

"And what if I told you, Severus, that the decision had already been made?"

"By _whom_, Albus? Or do have you have the spine to admit it to me?"

"Professor Shyloard has resigned."

Severus's jaw clenched. After a second of silence between the two men, Severus whirled around again, letting go of the chair and beginning to walk out the door, officially too tormented to be able to continue a conversation properly.

Dumble called out to him as he left, "I did nothing about this, Severus, it was all Shyloard's decision."

"I'm certain, Albus, I'm certain," Severus billowed out of the room, letting the door close behind him as he made his way back down to the dungeons to sort out his thoughts. It was August fifth, less than a month until the school year began, and he yet to obtain the time or patience to deal with the Potter boy, not that he had a choice of the first place.

Severus needed a choice, for once.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

The night of the escapade into the dungeons of Hogwarts proved to be a turning point for Hermione and Malfoy, not just as fellow teachers looking to preserve their school, but also as two people greatly interested in how the property of Severus Snape remained untouched in the equally untouched dungeon region of the castle. One might even call them partners in crime.

The next morning, Hermione met Malfoy after finishing her breakfast at the Headmistress's office. He was outside, tapping his foot impatiently while Hermione took her time going up the stairs, "You don't press yourself, do you?"

"Why should I?" she smirked maliciously at him, "You've got enough anxiety for the both of us. Even now, when we're the ones getting students in trouble compared to us _being_ the trouble. There's no point to it really. Besides, those three are still eating."

"They'd better come."

"They will, Malfoy, don't get your wand in a knot over it. I threatened extra detention for them, remember?"

Malfoy grinned mischievously at her, "I'd only be too happy to monitor them."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "You and your bloody protectiveness. Must be a syndrome, that's the only explanation."

"It was _school property_, Granger."

"Can we go in now, please, and discuss it with Minerva so we can decide exactly who's property it is, and not just fantasize about brutalizing children?"

"Fine. But keep your distance from me if they don't show up."

Hermione rolled her eyes again as they began to ascend the spiral staircase up to the Headmistress's office. Malfoy had grown up in a lot of ways since the war, which she supposed was the only reason she associated with him as much as she did. He'd filled out a bit with lanky muscle that gave him the appearance of regality, just as his father before him. However, his hair, usually platinum blond, now showed traces of brown near his ears. His Dark Mark, as he had shown her earlier in the year, still lay underneath his teaching robes, though it had faded to a light silvery-gray since the fall of his previous master. His face was still handsome and sharp-featured, with gray eyes that bored into her much like his godfather's eyes had bored into his students when the pair were in school.

Their friendship was entertaining to say the least. Malfoy constantly picked on, flirted and mocked Hermione at nearly every opportunity, but only in the best sense. They were very much still schoolchildren figuring out a new friendship, making up for the years they had been at odds with each other. He'd apologized, profusely in fact, for calling her a Mudblood practically the moment she began to talk to him as a peer rather than an enemy. It didn't take Hermione long to see that his feelings were, in fact, genuine. Harry had been suspicious at first, but when Hermione included details in an owl to him about the night she'd found him snogging a muggleborn witch, Aurelia Havish, in the Leaky Cauldron in Hogsmeade, and how Malfoy had introduced Aurelia to Hermione not two days later, Harry's doubts in his former nemesis began to subside.

Hermione followed Malfoy into the Headmistress's office at her beckoning. As it was the beginning of Spring, papers were littering the typically pristine desk of Headmistress McGonagall. She was filling out one of them as they walked into the room. Just as she had the other times she'd come into this very office, Hermione took in her surroundings. The office was very nearly like Dumbledore had it before, though it seemed Minerva had gotten rid of a number of the trinkets that had been stashed in what were now empty holes in glass cases and bookshelves. She had wondered, when she first came into Minerva's office, if Snape had left the room as it had been Dumbledore's or if he had gotten rid of the trinkets himself. She remembered hearing that his office had been dark and mysterious just as the dungeons had been to so many, as if he brought the aura of that place with him when he ascended to the Headmaster's office. But now, the office much resembled Dumbledore's in warmth and character, though Minerva's organization had taken over the bookshelves, cases and the desk. As Hermione looked about the room, she cast glances at the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses. They all were whispering amongst each other or watching silently as Malfoy and Hermione approached the desk. She saw Dumbledore, the wanky bastard, silently smiling at her from his frame, his eyes twinkling. A few frames to the left of Dumbledore, closer to the edge of the wall and the banister that nearly blocked the portrait from view, was the silently staring portrait of Severus Snape. She cast him a quick glance, as she always had during her visits to the office, and he locked eyes with her in kind, though his expression did not tell her that her looking at him was neither wanted or invited. She quickly looked away.

"So," Minerva's clipped tone sounded, causing Hermione's eyes to travel back to the subject before her as Minerva looked up from over the top of her glasses from the document she was editing, "You found yourselves some thieves, I hear."

"Correct, Headmistress," Malfoy nodded, and Hermione nodded in kind.

"Professor Granger reported the incident to me via letter which I received this morning, but I would like more details before the accused students come in for their sentencing."

"On patrol last night," Hermione began, stepping over Malfoy's voice to answer first, "We found three students in the dungeons past curfew. We thought at first they were just wandering the abandoned sections of the hall, but upon further investigation, we noticed that they had found Professor Snape's old classroom from when he was Potions Master," Hermione had to stop herself from looking back up to the portrait of the Potions Master in question, "Apparently, they were shopping for memorabilia, as they found old stores of potion ingredients as well as a notebook and textbook belonging to Headmaster Snape."

"There were other belongings of his down there as well," Malfoy interjected, "More textbooks and journals documenting potions work, as well as old gradebooks."

Minerva squinted appraisingly at the two professors as they spoke, then responded, "Did the students manage to lift anything of importance?"

Hermione, though taken aback by the wording of the Headmistress's question, answered anyways, "I don't believe so. We were watching them and they dropped all of what they had when we made ourselves known."

"I also searched them before letting them go to their common rooms," Malfoy added, "They didn't have anything."

"Very good, very good…" Minerva looked thoughtfully down at her desk, also out of character. Hermione watched her as she compiled her thoughts while simultaneously trying to hide her thoughtfulness with a show of restacking the pile of papers next to her. Hermione shot a look at Malfoy, who gave her a small shrug in return. Malfoy was indifferent, but Hermione knew what reasonable suspicion was and what the basis was for it, being friends with Harry all those years at Hogwarts and therefore constantly getting into trouble. Now, with Minerva's odd actions, was a good base for Hermione to have reasonable suspicion.

Hermione shot a look up at the Headmasters of the past, the only ones she was familiar with from life. Dumbledore was the first she could see, and he did not look entirely pleased. He still had the normal twinkle in his eye, as always, but he sat back in his chair, with somewhat of a scowl on his face. Hermione could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Dumbledore angry or upset or any other negative emotion ever, and the look on his face counted as another finger, despite the fact that she could tell that he knew something about what Minerva was saying. Dumbledore met her gaze pointedly without turning his head, which only made her suspicions grow. Her eyes drifted from Dumbledore to the very person who last occupied the dungeons that were now supposedly abandoned. Snape sat stoic in his frame, but he was already looking down his nose at Hermione. When their eyes met he cocked an eyebrow, and she wondered if paintings could perform Legilimency. Then he did something that surprised Hermione more than anything else she'd experienced at Hogwarts since her return: he gave her a slight smirk.

She knit her eyebrows, staring at him as though he had just materialized into the real Snape. He made the slightest of motions with his hand, which normally sat perched in the arm of the chair he sat on in the frame, towards the bookshelf below him.

Minerva got up, causing Hermione to look away from the painting and the shelf below him. There had been a knock on the door of the office, "I suppose those are your students?" she chirped, swiftly walking over to the door to let them in. Hermione took this as her chance to look back to the bookshelf, where she saw the entire thing was packed with books, now sorted by subject. In her quick glance she noticed that they were all books on potions, but there, sitting on the top shelf wedged in the middle left of the tightly packed row was _Advanced Potion Making_, worn out and used. The Half-Blood Prince's copy. Hermione looked back up at the portrait of Snape, looking to find something, anything, to help explain what was going on.

He got up, their eyes met, and walked away, shocking Hermione more. She didn't know any of the portraits, save for Phineas Nigellus Black, could move out of frame in the Headmistress's office. Her attention was wrenched back to reality by the soundings of multiple footsteps on the floorboards. She rallied her focus and made eye contact with each of the students, their glowering or embarassed faces processed by her teacher's instincts that she was truly developing now that nearly a year had past.

She was going to have some words the Headmistress once her students got out. She didn't need her students witnessing the staff go to war with each other. It would make things too complicated.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

Severus sighed as he reached the dungeons, finding some peace. The Headmistress's office upstairs was about to be an absolute wreck, and he hoped nobody of importance, aside from _her_, had seen him leave. He didn't talk much usually, as was his choice. Minerva had called upon the portraits once or twice, but he'd let every other loudmouth take their turn responding, but he kept his painted trap shut. There was one person who kept intriguing him, though, and that was Granger. Miss Granger had been working at Hogwarts for nearly a year and had just returned for her second. One thing Severus had always noticed about the girl since her return to the school was the small but purposeful look she'd throw towards his painted portraiture each time she was called into Minerva's office. It didn't take him long to figure out why.

There had been several instances where she'd been called in at night or early in the morning where the girl looked absolutely ragged. Not in a way that made one presume that she had yet to shower, brush her hair, or that she had just managed to drag herself away from her bed a few minutes prior. Instead, it was the look of someone who didn't get much sleep, or if she got any sleep, it was not the energizing kind of rest that one needed to complete the day. His hypothesis had been that nightmares were the cause of the dark circles under her eyes and the weary look about her face, and his theory had been proven true when she would refuse to look up at him, unlike the way she would catch his gaze at any other moment when she didn't look like she'd crawled out of hell. The moment that made him realize that her nightmares were probably causing her not to sleep at all was one particular morning, before the school's breakfast, when Minerva had called her in, only to leave Miss Granger alone for a few minutes while retrieving student records of some sort from her chambers. Miss Granger had pointedly not looked anywhere near him. Her eyes had bags and dark circles under them, her hair was more frazzled than usual, and her skin was pale. She already had pale skin, but she looked very unhealthy at that moment. Her eyes had locked onto a spot on the bookshelf, like she'd gone into a trance, and she seemed to be recalling something. Then, much to his intrigue, she'd snapped her head up to his portrait, and stared at him as if he were a monster come to hunt her down and drag her back into some hellish landscape. After her initial fear had waned, she continued to look at him, though not just by meeting his gaze. He'd given her a curious look as her eyes drifted down to his neck, where two small pale dots had been painted onto him, showing in the slightest colored detail the mode of his death. He remembered, as much as a painting that was not his original self could, that she had been there at his death, and wondered if his death had truly made such an impact upon the girl that she'd had nightmares of it.

The more he thought of it, the more certain of this idea he became.

Now, in the dungeons, he would wait. For now, he would wait until he was certain enough time had passed that Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy and their students had left the office entirely, leaving only Minerva for company, aside from his fellow portraits. After the day had passed, he would wander back down to his dungeon frames and wait again. Only this time, he was sure his visitor would have much more to say than she'd had previously.

Now was the time for action.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

Hermione had a theory, and she was certain it was right.

During their free hour, she and Malfoy asked to meet with Minerva about the incident regarding the old Potions classroom the night before, because of which the three students responsible were given detention with her and Malfoy as well as given fines to replace broken property. When Malfoy had asked about the property of his godfather not being relinquished to him, as he was the sole heir to Snape's estate, Minerva had simply stated that it was school property, which was under the custody of the Headmistress, since it was Snape's _school_ property- his journals, his old textbooks (which he had already relinquished to the school after his sixth year, since Harry had been the one to find it in the first place), his notes, his student grades and essays and everything else that could be found in the classroom that once belonged to him. At this statement, Malfoy had fumed like the Hogwarts Express, clearly unimpressed by her explanation which had not changed since that morning's breakfast, when the two had discussed it in private, which was news to Hermione. He began screaming at the Headmistress, telling her that there could be sensitive information in the texts regarding the war or the people involved, given that he served as a spy. He had yelled how irresponsible it was of her to leave the dungeon unguarded, unwarded, and unattended while apparently assuming nobody would break into the area when it was once the classroom and living space of a war hero now immortalized by his tale of woe and service. She knew people would break in and steal his property for personal gain, he claimed, to which Hermione persistently agreed. She couldn't believe how unfair and ridiculous Minerva, one of the brightest witches Hermione had ever met, was currently being.

In the midst of the chaos, however, something caught her gaze out of the corner of her eye. It was Snape's portrait, which he had just stepped into from outside the frame. She chanced a glance over at him while the Headmistress was preoccupied with trying to hush an infuriated Draco Malfoy, only to find that portrait-Snape was holding a book, which he otherwise did not have access to, according to what Hermione had assumed of magical portraits.

It was _Advanced Potion Making_, Snape's very copy in portrait form.

She hadn't allowed for her shock to register on her face, assuming that Minerva would catch her features moving in such a way and question her, but instead looked immediately down from the portrait to the spot on the bookshelf below it where the book had been sitting that morning.

Gone.

Hermione looked back towards Minerva and Malfoy, allowing her eyes to trace their steps back to the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was already looking at her, his eyes trained and determined as they met hers. He nodded at her, setting the book on his armchair in the portrait before sitting himself on top of it, hiding it away so nobody would know the better. Her eyes began their trek back to the Headmistress while her mind barrelled from thought to thought like a runaway train, but her gaze was caught by the penetrating stare of Albus Dumbledore, who smiled at her with some kind of glee that she hadn't seen on his face since she was in her earliest years at Hogwarts. He looked towards Snape's portrait, who looked in his direction as well, and the two paintings seemed to exchange a knowing look through their frames as Hermione had looked back to the Headmistress and her colleague.

Now it was night, and it was also time for Hermione to find answers.

She charged down the hallways one by one, staircase by staircase, until she found the dungeons once more. They were dark and dank, silent save for the ringing in her ears from her violently pulsing veins. It didn't take long for muscle memory to kick in for her to find the classroom she'd once taken her Potions lessons in.

Inside, she found a portrait hanging on the wall. She hadn't noticed it the night she and Malfoy had found the three students there the night before, but by the amount of dust that had accumulated on it, she assumed it had been there for a good chunk of time, most likely since before school began. The frame, however, was not empty. There he stood, the very Potions Master that once commanded this classroom, looking as composed as ever. He'd been waiting for her.

She stopped in front of the portrait, her wand had been lit, but now that she had found her target, she decided she needed more light. She lit all the torches that lined the walls with a flick of her wand, then shut the door with another flick of her wrist. She was determined to remain uninterrupted.

Finally, she looked back at the painted Snape, who'd been watching her while she performed her magic. She straightened herself and took a deep breath, "Hello, Professor."

His reply came in the same silky voice she'd only heard, recently, in her dreams, though this time there was no clotting blood to crumple the tones, "Hello, Miss Granger."

"You've been expecting me."

"Indeed I have. Perceptible as always," he added with a small sneer. She nearly giggled, how refreshing it was to see him back in his normal state, or rather as normal as one could be in the confines of a portrait frame, compared to the way she remembered seeing him when he was last speaking to her.

"Clearly," Hermione stated, not having the time nor patience to deal with small talk, "Something has been amiss down here. It's very unordinary for Minerva to act the way she has been concerning what should be personal property, especially that of a very important spy whose works are liable to be sought after his death," she made eye contact with the portrait, again wondering if those black eyes could read her mind, "Your actions during our second meeting today proved there is more to the story. Do you mind filling me in, sir?"

Snape scoffed at her, "Your bossy qualities have increased greatly in my absence, Miss Granger."

"As have my teaching skills. I believe they correlate with each other."

He raised a black eyebrow at her comment, which was more blunt than he was used to hearing from her, "Indeed. Well…" He reached into his robes and pulled out the very book she had been waiting to see again, "I suppose your thoughts have been upon this little trinket."

"Yes, sir."

"I will say, it holds no real significance to the real reason I've led you here. It only served as a trinket to better catch your eye, since you noticed it the night those brats came looking through my things."

"You were here?" Hermione gaped at him, but only for a brief moment, "Of course you were. I don't know why I entertained anything different. Please continue, sir."

"I shouldn't have had to _stop_ to begin with," he snapped. He straightened, then proceeded with his narrative while Hermione rolled her eyes in semi-disbelief, "There's a project Minerva and I have been working on. She wanted to keep it under wraps until she could present it to the Ministry, but I believe our findings could be better used elsewhere. The Ministry wouldn't know what to do with something like this, it's better off in more…" he grimaced, forcing the following words out, "..._capable_ hands." Hermione tried not to let her pride swell too much at the fact that the nefarious Severus Snape had just managed to force out what she dared to believe was a compliment directed at her- a nearly unheard of event in wizarding history.

"If you would be so kind as to go to the podium over there, you will find a curtain stuffed in a small crevice underneath the top of the podium. Draw it closed."

Hermione walked to the other side of the room where the podium stood and felt around the underneath of the desk portion of the podium for a crevice, and sure enough there it was, and stuffed with some kind of material that had been sealed to the wood. She pulled the curtain down so it draped over the inner desk of the podium that would typically store the notebooks and texts of the professor using it. Behind her, she noticed, Snape had drawn up a portrait version of the podium that she was standing in front of, as if it had been wheeled out of frame and he had pulled it back, and set the book exactly where Hermione had pulled the curtain.

"The spell is _Objectus Incarnatum_, Miss Granger, if you will."

Hermione took out her wand again and pointed it at the curtain, chanting, "_Objectus Incarnatum!"_ She heard a small pop, followed quickly by a subtle thud. She opened the curtain after silence began to fill the room once more, lo and behold to find the exact copy of the textbook where there had been nothing save for dust before.

Hermione's eyes lit up with fascination, "I'd never heard of inter-portrait teleportation!" she cried, nearly squealing at the possibilities that the new magic could have, "How long have you known about this? Is this how you communicate with Minerva? Is this older magic or is this of your own discovery? Or perhaps Minerva's? Oh, no, that couldn't be it. She said she doesn't like tampering with…"

"_Silence,_ Granger!"

Hermione jumped from across the room, her old reactions to the Professor's cutting words beginning to kick in again. She silently shook off the remains of her surprise and met Snape's raging eyes as she shoved the curtain closed with more force than was necessary and began to walk back up to his frame.

Snape seemed to compile himself in their short silence, continuing with a but less rage than there had been in his words a moment before, "Your insufferable questioning has no room in this conversation at the moment, so you would do well to silence yourself while you become accustomed to the _important part _of the situation currently at hand."

Hermione sucked on her teeth with her tongue, pulling it away from her teeth with a pop to let the Professor know she was already sick of his former antics, "Go ahead then, sir. I'm all ears."

He was clearly still mad at her, but he continued anyways with a huff, "I was working on a theory before I died, as a last resort in case the war was lost. There had to be a way to go back and fix whatever was needed in order to ensure the loss of the Dark Lord. So I stole a time turner and made some adjustments and…"

"You _stole _a time turner?!" Hermione shrieked. She covered her mouth immediately, knowing of, and soon seeing, Snape's dissatisfaction, but she was too shocked to stop her eyes from glittering with giddy delight at his admission.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I am capable of breaking significant rules. My alliance with the Death Eaters and Voldemort's cause should have been proof enough already for you," he pressed his thumb and first two fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if he had a headache, and continued, growing more impatient with each of Hermione's outbursts, "To continue _without further interruption,_" he raised an eyebrow at her with pointed glare, to which she raised her right hand in an unspoken oath of silence, "I made a few adjustments to the time turner, which were tested by Minerva herself while I was still alive. She spent a year in Greece for a vacation because of it," he shook his head, as if to free himself of the developing headache he was no doubt developing from being in a Gryffindor's presence for so long, "The time turner worked then, but she wanted to be sure. Regrettably, my duties to Dumbledore concerning his death, which eventually led me to my own, did not permit me to finish my project. However, upon returning to Hogwarts, Minerva enlisted me to aid her in the continuation of the project. As a portrait dedicated to helping the Headmistress, I had no choice. She believes it can be used in the future to aid in the defeat of any risings of Dark witches or wizards who may try to start a war. I believe that it can be used now anyways, to aid in issues already at hand," with that, Snape looked at Hermione pointedly, "You caught three students in here last night. However, Minerva did not tell you all the details."

Hermione cocked her head at the Professor, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Snape sneered at her, his voice dripping with disdain, no doubt loathing her for not catching on sooner, "They were not the first to find their way into this classroom or my previous dwelling in search of treasure. Nor were all the break-ins that of students' doings."

Hermione was instantly on guard, "You mean to say people have broken into Hogwarts? In search of your belongings? What ever for?"

Snape pointed at the cabinet that the girls had been looting the night previous, where a stack of notebooks as well as a separate stack of textbooks stood on the opened shelves, "There are many notebooks of mine in this room as well as in my private quarters. Some of them I did not have time to hide before my death. And before you ask, Miss Granger, I did not, in fact, change my living quarters to those reserved for the Headmaster. Not truly, anyways. I made a show of acting as if that was where I lived, when in fact I lived in my quarters as I always have, preparing for the war against Voldemort in any way that I could. It did not take long for sympathizers of the Dark to find this out.

"There are notebooks with potions, spells, curses, and hexes of my own design in those journals, as well as secrets about those on the Dark side. Many people want this evidence against themselves destroyed before the Ministry gets their paws on it, while others seek to gain personal wealth from my own discoveries. Or, like your students, they wish to sell my belongings for a profit."

"Why didn't Minerva ward he dungeons?" Hermione demanded, "She knows better than to allow any of this to happen, why didn't she prevent this?"

"I enchanted the entirety of the dungeons myself so only I could raise the wards here," Snape admitted, "It was an ignorant move, in the long run, but at the time it was necessary in case the Dark Lord decided to visit my abode. It was safer than having a Secret Keeper know the true location of my living space or my journals. I knew all too well how badly that could backfire." Hermione's heart ached for him at the mention of Lily, though she didn't let it show. She doubted he would accept her emotion well.

"That said, there are rules about portraits which many do not realize. The first is that we are the echo of our living selves, if we were living at all. All of our prejudices, biases, opinions, beliefs and everything else are painted into us, and are therefore unchanged throughout time after out death. We can still forge opinions on the people around us, usually if they are new to us, and sometimes we can change the opinion we have of another living person we knew before our death, but our personalities and characters never change.

"Second, since we are echoes of our former selves, details get lost in the translation of our former selves to our portraits. Which means, often times, we do not remember significant events in our history, unless they are paramount. For example, I can recall the details of my death, however…"

"However," Hermione filled in for him, her mind churning with ideas at full speed, "You've forgotten the way your enchantments on the dungeons can be lifted or the details of your time turner experiment with Minerva before your death."

He lifted his head while raising an eyebrow, looking down his nose at her while jutting out his chin, "Indeed," he agreed, which was the closest Hermione could get to a proper recognition of her correct conclusion, "Which is why you are here, Miss Granger. I believe you can be helped by this."

"Me?" Hermione's brain nearly grinded to a halt before beginning to work again with all-new thoughts. "Why one earth would I be helped by _this_?"

"You were in a relationship with Mr. Weasley, were you not?"

Hermione's face darkened, "It is of little consequence, but yes. I was." her reply was low but strong. A better reply than she could've forced out in summer.

"Minerva spoke of what happened to him," Snape recalled, "His death was quite a shock."

"Indeed." Now it was her turn to respond coldly.

"His death was certified as a suicide, if I recall correctly?" A terse nod was the only reply, "Then I have news for you, Miss Granger. I don't know how you'll receive it, but it will be of use to you nonetheless."

She looked up and met the dark eyes that looked at her like they were searching for her response before giving her anything to respond to, "What is it?" she prompted, her curiosity betraying her.

"Ronald Weasley did not commit suicide," Snape informed her formally, without influction, "His death was homicide covered up to look like a suicide."

Hermione's heart stopped pulsing and promptly dropped onto the ground below her. She felt her face pale and her ears begin to ring, "He _what_?" her voice was barely audible, but it was trembling.

"There are a group of people who have raided my rooms and this classroom while school was out of session," he informed her, this time with purpose in his words, "They are Dark sympathizers. We do not know much about them yet, but we do know they have targeted war heroes who aided in the defeat of Voldemort. Mr. Longbottom has been blackmailed into resigning from his position as herbology professor here at Hogwarts, Miss Lovegood has been threatened with robbery, personal attack, and rape. Even Miss Weasley was attacked not a week ago by people who nearly killed her in Knockturn Alley. They told her it was due to her alliance with the Light during the war. They left one of my journals with her."

Hermione's head was spinning. Why hadn't she heard of any of this before? Why hadn't Harry told her about Ginny? Luna? Neville? Why hadn't she been _told_? She looked back up at the Professor, who was monitoring her face for reaction as she leaned against a table behind her, holding a shaking hand up to her temple, "And... Weasley?" she croaked, "How did you…?"

"Minerva has connections into the Auror office, I'm assured," his reply was immediate, which Hermione was grateful for, "They let her see the note which was left with Mr. Weasley. It was written on a page torn from the same notebook left with Ginny Weasley a week ago."

Hermione let out a choked sob, though no tears came to her eyes, much to her confusion. She felt her heart rate increase, and she focussed on her breathing in the empty classroom, just as she had practiced in therapy and after every nightmare. She could do nothing but force her breathing to slow, and listen.

"If it is any consolation to you, Miss Granger," Snape's tone was softer now, though still commanding of her attention, even though she did not look at him, "We do not believe they will be a permanent threat to the wizarding community, they cannot be as powerful as the Dark Lord. That said, they are targeting some of the most well-known war heroes of this era. If they… managed to do what they did to Weasley, there is logical reason to believe they are not above doing it again."

"We have to stop them," Hermione stated, her voice commanding while her heart rate continued to be erratic, along with the shaking in her hands, "They can't be allowed to hurt anyone else… Never again. I won't let them."

Snape sighed, leaning against the podium that was still in the frame with him, "I thought you'd say that." he gave a small, uneasy smirk, to which she did not react. Her mind was traveling too fast with far too many vicious thoughts for her to care what look was on the portrait's face, "Minerva believes it is a job for the Ministry. I, however, lost faith in them years ago. They do not trust people with war experience to tell the truth on matters that can easily be chalked up to paranoia. I do not believe they ever will. There are, however, measures that we can take to stop this ourselves, or rather, you can by yourself."

Hermione met his eyes, her own blazing with fire stoked by the wrath she felt towards the killers of a man she had wrongfully demonized for leaving her, "You want me to go back in time to stop this."

Snape nodded, "That's the concept. And not only could you stop this, but you could, potentially, stop the war itself."

Her eyes widened, "Are you trying to kill me from shock, Professor, or have you gone _mad_?!" she demanded again, her voice sounding feral, "How in the name of Merlin could I possibly be capable of that?"

"If one travels back years, the rules of time change in comparison to traveling back hours or days," Snape recited to her, quickly trying to show his reason to the girl, who was clearly on the verge of an emotional breakdown, "As long as you inform me of the idea that time travel could work in the concept of years, we avoid paradox. You can go back to any year, inform me of your plan, and you can begin your work on defeating the Dark Lord. I will only be too happy to aid you.

"You already know the locations of all seven Horcruxes, you know about Harry being the seventh, you know all the turns the Dark Lord will take along his journey. You can cut him off at the pass before he even gets the chance to begin a new rampage on the wizarding world. And without a war…" Snape trailed off, looking at her with eyes that were lit with a hungry fire, a fire for something different.

"Then no more killings or threats," Hermione finished for him. Snape nodded.

Hermione didn't need any more convincing. Her resolve was set in stone. There were too many people, present company included, who'd had their choices for the turn of their lives taken from them.

Hermione was determined to give them a choice, for once.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

**A/N: Hellooo again! Hopefully you all enjoyed this chapter, it's a long one that's for sure, but I wanted to make sure I got the ball rolling on the story for you guys. I know patience isn't my strong suit, and I can't be alone in that xD Anyways, I have MUCH planned for the future of this fic, so send in those reviews with all your thoughts about what's happening and any ideas you guys have (I'm always open to improvements and constructive criticism!). Also, concerning the smut that I know some of you are looking for, it'll come, I swear! The building blocks have been laid, and once it happens, I'm sure you guys will like it! I wanna give these fave characters of mine a good story with quality fluff and smut and ALLL that juicy goodness. So trust me when I say this: Angst is Near. **

**Happy reading!**

**-Cherry **


	4. Chapter 3: Travelers To Be Missed

**A/N: Hey everyone! Here's a new chapter with a new content warning: this chapter contains adult language, graphic descriptions of bodily wounds, death, and mentions of PTSD and homicide. If any of these topics trigger or bother you, please take care of yourself and either don't read or brace yourself. For those of you continuing on with the story, enjoy!**

Chapter 3

Travelers To Be Missed

_The moon was getting higher in the sky as the sun set on Hogwarts. It should be a beautiful sight to see, but the rubble and blood spoils the view. _

_They were hiding in the shack, hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak as the dark figure of Snape flew into the room, and into the presence of Voldemort. He looked worried as he entered the room, and it unnerved her. He simply didn't look worried. It wasn't in him to look worried. What the hell were they up against if Severus Snape, one of the scariest men alive, was even just concerned about something, let alone worried?_

_Snape and his master spoke in turns, though Hermione was barely listening. All she was focused on was the snake that rolled and coiled in it's protective bubble next to its master. It was eerily human, as if it understood where to strike to make it hurt the most. _

"_You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus," the evil man's voice hissed through his snake-like face, "I am sorry for what I must do… but it is necessary."_

"_Please... my lord, I beg you…"_

_He's _begging_? When in the fresh fuck did Severus Snape _beg_ for anything? He's too powerful to beg… he's too strong… he shouldn't have to…_

_And then the snake was there, it's bubble flowing over the current Headmaster of Hogwarts like water as he scrambled backwards, away from it, begging his master to spare him, to spare his life. But it was too late. _

_No… no it can't be too late..._

_But it was. _

_The snake lashed over and over, hitting Snape again and again in the neck. She watched as her Potions professor fell to the floor in a bloodied, poisoned heap, gagging and retching with what little strength he had left. She watched as he scraped to collect the shattered remnants of his life. _

_Voldemort apparated away without a word. _

_Snape was stilling, his eyes looking for something, for someone, who wasn't there. Harry made the first move, lifting the invisibility cloak from the trio and standing up so Professor Snape could see him. Hermione would've been the first to do that, but she'd been paralyzed by the Basilisk of a killing that they'd just witnessed. _

_Weasley...Ron?...Weasley helped her stand and the threesome approached the dying man slowly. Harry was a bit faster than either Hermione or Weasley, and he knelt beside the dark man. _

_Hermione stood just behind Harry, speechless. _

_She watched as the scene began to melt until all that was left was the Shack, Snape, and Hermione, alone together. She met his eyes, dark and black and deep…_

_...Just like his picture, a small unheard voice says…_

_...and he looked back at her with all the desperation in the world. He wanted something, she didn't know what, and she couldn't force the words out of her mouth to ask. She defied her paralysis and knelt beside him, a first for her, and surveyed the remnants of his neck up close. Then she heard those dreaded words. _

"_Look...at...me..."_

_Hermione's eyes instantly welled with tears and an uncontrollable sob threw her head forward and yanked it back again in one motion, and all she wanted was that strong, unbeatable man to get up and walk away. _

_Tell me heroes exist. Tell me the world isn't like this. Prove to me that you are what I always thought you were. Get up and walk away. Tell me you're alright. Yell at me, scream at me, tell me my teeth are ugly, call me an insufferable know-it-all...please..._

_Then a hand was on her face, and she looked through her tears to the dark man laying, dying, in front of her, life draining from his face by the moment, "Why the tears, 'Mione?" The voice was his, but the words were _his_. "It'll all be over soon, try not to worry, love."_

"_How can't I?" she demanded of the fading life of Severus Snape, "This isn't the way things should be… this isn't what I can...this…please. Get up and walk away. Don't leave me here…"_

_Her eyes gravitated to the hand that stayed on her face and saw that though it was the Professor's hand, the wrist had been slashed and blood spurted and oozed out of it. She screamed, and the room was suddenly that of the flat in London, with Snape's body propped against the wall, neck and wrists pouring out blood. _

"_You know how this goes, 'Mione," still the words belonged to _him,_ but the voice was his, and it was garbled with the sound of blood in the back of his throat. She saw it leak out of the corner of his mouth, "You know you'll be okay, don't you? That's the way this works. That's the way this will always work… they all leave..."_

_She watched as the bodies of Weasley and Snape were thrown on top of each other in her bedroom, and she screamed as they both reached out for her. _

_They all leave…_

"_Stop!" she screamed, "Please! NO! Don't leave me here...Please don't leave me!...Pl-"_

"Granger!"

She was instantly awake, bolt upright in her bed. Draco Malfoy held her sweaty shoulders tightly, and he was looking down at her with concern. She took in her surroundings for the umpteeth time as she took in an additional, long breath. She was in her bedroom at Hogwarts. She was two, three years away from that night in the Shack, nearly four. Nearly three years away from her flat in London. Her fireplace had burned down to cooling embers, her ungraded papers from the day before lay in a stack on her desk. Her bookshelves were lined with all of her favorite books, academic and nonacademic. She was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She inhaled deeply again. Her heart rate was lowering now, and she looked back up at Malfoy.

He smiled kindly at her and released her shoulders when he realized she was returning back to her normal self, "Did you start having more dreams only after you set up the wards so I could come save you?" he asked playfully.

Hermione exhaled a subtle chuckle, "Shite, you're onto me."

"Feeling better, then. That's a good start." he lifted himself from the bedside and reached over to the nightstand where an empty glass stood next to her store of potions she would use to help lull herself back to sleep. He whispered a charm of _aguamenti_ into the glass and filled it, handing it to her in the process. She sipped it carefully, realizing, with the coolness of the castle at night, that she had tear tracks down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her wrist in a lame attempt to clean herself up for her present company. She figured she didn't have to, but it made her feel better. She was so terribly sick of crying.

"What was it this time?" Malfoy breathed, waiting patiently for her response. It was the end of April now, and the two had fallen into a supportive pattern regarding her nightmares. He knew she had to process it verbally in order to move on, while she knew that he wanted the camaraderie. He hadn't many friends left after he sided publicly with Voldemort, save for a few colleagues, Hermione, and Miss Hamish. He wanted to belong, and she needed a shoulder for support. Their dynamic worked well.

"It was Snape again, mostly," she admitted, her voice returning to a more normal quality, "Everything was Snape in look, but he started saying things that Weasley would say. He was telling me I'd be alright and not worry, while he died. Weasley came in at the end, while Snape was dying in the flat."

Malfoy inhaled sharply, seeming to hold his breath as he thought, "Have you discussed any of this with Severus?"

Hermione shook her head. She told Malfoy about Snape's portrait and a few of the secrets Snape had revealed to her, except for the time traveling bits which she saved for Snape to tell him. She told him of the threat to the heroes of the war, how Weasley's death was a product of homicide rather than suicide, as they had all originally believed. Malfoy had felt partially responsible, being a Dark supporter at one point. He felt like he had added to a very serious issue, which Hermione agreed to, but had assured him that as long as he was not aiding the new Dark-supportive cause, he had no hand in any of the events that had come of it. He told her he'd help her, if she trusted him enough to do so, to which she took a chance and agreed to accept his help. Now she, Malfoy and Snape's portrait worked together on finding more out about the time turner and creating a plan of action for Hermione to complete when she would go back in time.

"I don't think it would be right to tell him. I know he's a portrait but…" she shrugged half-heartedly, "I mean, he's had it rough enough as it is, hasn't he? He doesn't need another bumbling git to stumble to him asking for his help. He's given enough… even though he's a portrait."

Malfoy shrugged in return, "I can see that. You know it might resolve a little bit of your issue if you did, though? I know it might be hard, but it could give you a sense of closure, potentially."

"Perhaps."

Malfoy grinned wickedly, "What are the odds that he already knows?"

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. She wouldn't think it was possible, but then again Snape had a way of achieving the hypothetically impossible. She nodded, bobbing her head from side to side, "I wouldn't bet against it."

Malfoy leaned over to the nightstand again and picked out a dreamless sleep, "I don't think you need a calming draught tonight," he handed her the potion, which she downed in one gulp as she settled back into the warmth of her sheets, "Get some sleep, Granger. I'll see you in the morning."

She hummed her affirmation as she pleasantly drifted off to sleep, thoughts of the late Potions Master's intriguing persona guiding her into a peaceful slumber.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

"Finally here, Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for keeping me waiting."

Hermione had marched into the dungeons a little later than she expected, having had to dodge Peeves in the hall before he could blow her cover. The dungeon classroom had become a second home to her, having spent so much time in it with Malfoy, Snape, and occasionally Dumbledore himself. She waved her wand over the tables and counters near the portrait, where Hermione and Malfoy had left their belongings under an disillusionment charm combined with a vanishing charm to keep their simmering potions and research texts away from their prying Headmistress.

Although Snape had been cordial to her, which was becoming less and less of a rarity, she did not respond in kind. Her day had been long and rough, even though the end of school had already come and gone. Staff were expected to stay behind an extra week up to a month to help prepare their curriculum and the castle for the following school year, as well as to allow for the professors leaving the castle to have time to also pack their personal belongings for their summer hols. The time she usually spent teaching children was now spent with boring paperwork, as well as sending in recommendation letters to the board as to the placement of her students in the years to follow for their Defense Against the Dark Arts education. The majority of her being said that this wasn't necessary, and therefore fought her on doing it since it seemed a wasted effort. She she was going to rewrite history anyways, so why bother? However, she decided not to give in, considering that Snape had mentioned not long ago that there was a chance that the time turner would not work properly when attempting to use it to go back ten years into the past. There were a variety of things that could happen to her if that were the case, and she tried not to focus on any of them, but it had been added to her list of mentally straining things that she had to deal with. She had to prepare for all outcomes.

As was common for her, whenever her stress levels increased, so did the intensity of her nightmares. She'd had nightmares every night for the past week, and she'd run out of Pepper-Up potions to get her through the days, and Malfoy couldn't make more fast enough. By the time she made it to the old Potions classroom, she was mentally and physically drained and overwhelmed. Her eyes had dark circles and bags beneath them, her face was paling again, and she had been developing a throbbing headache since early evening. She grunted a response to Snape and promptly fell into a chair at one of the many worktables, lobbing the satchel she carried over her shoulder on the table in front of her, her limbs heavy and weary from having traveled all the way down into the dungeons.

Snape's joke about taking points from Gryffindor clearly did not have its desired effect. Usually, Granger had much better, and much happier, reactions to little quips of his that reminded her of her schooling- reactions that he secretly had come to enjoy over the last few months. He supposed it reminded her of happier times, since she'd confided to him that his grumbling, sneering professor's-persona had become endearing to her through the passing of time. Though, now, the thought that he had said such a thing made him nearly embarrassed for saying anything out loud… nearly.

"Granger, if you expect me to provide you with care and support I suggest you turn to Malfoy or Potter instead."

Her mouth twitched a bit into the briefest ghosting of a smile, which made his hope for the salvaging of her last night in the castle remerge, even though only slightly. Granger pressed her fingertips to her temples, rubbing them in small circles. She looked horrible, like she did after her nightmares. Even though she'd never truly discussed anything with him on the subject of dreams, he could tell that even Malfoy's help didn't counteract many of her symptoms of post-traumatic stress. He had made an educated guess that Malfoy was helping her, due to the gossip of the other portraits talking about how they had seen Malfoy rush to her rooms in the middle of the night, and how one ballerina had witnessed Granger and Malfoy put up wards on her rooms so Malfoy would know when she needed him. All the portraits who had heard these rumors had assumed that Granger and Malfoy had a fling on the side that they were keeping hidden from the Headmistress, but Snape could tell the truth was quite different. He'd seen Malfoy make an abundance of Pepper-Ups, Calming Draughts, Dreamless Sleeps, and headache-reducing potions in the time where Granger was not with them in the dungeon classroom. He'd also seen the way that the pair would look at each other, much like the way Potter and Granger had when they were in school. It was obvious that the pair were close, close enough to playfully flirt with the other even, but there was no romance between them. That, and he'd managed to catch a glimpse of a picture Malfoy kept in his pocket of a beaming young witch with dark blonde hair, who looked nothing like Granger, holding hands and laughing with the young man. He was clearly smitten with the girl, and Granger had no part in those feelings.

As he catalogued her reaction, she drew her head up to meet his gaze for the briefest of moments before pulling herself up straight, determining her resolve, and run her hands through her hair to smooth the unruly curls. She rubbed her face relentlessly, giving her cheeks a natural pink blush as blood rushed to the surface of her skin, waking herself up. Her determination was to be respected, if nothing else, though Snape also respected her consistent resolve she showed throughout her days in the classroom with him to save those who didn't need to be lost. She wanted to keep them safe, a feeling he knew all too well.

Granger had begun to grow on him, he was loath to admit.

"Have you finished your letter, sir?"

Snape was drawn back from his pensivity to meet her wide, brown eyes once more. She'd had him write a letter to his former self as proof Granger could show past-Snape that she was, indeed, from the future and that she was to be trusted. She'd asked Dumbledore to do the same, and as far as he'd known he completed it, though the old kook had yet to supply it. He lifted the piece of parchment that Granger had magicked into his portrait, now covered in his own spiky scrawl, to show it to her, "Indeed I do. Do you want it now, or before you leave tomorrow?"

"Now would be good, please."

He set the parchment in the podium to his left and hid it from sight as he pulled the curtain over it. Granger chanted the activation charm and promptly pulled out the parchment from the podium across the classroom. Much to his surprise, or perhaps relief, Granger didn't read the letter. Instead she summoned a green envelope from the satchel on the table across the room, folded the parchment and stuffed it inside. She was all business, it seemed, even in the midst of her initial fatigue.

"Have you spoken to Professor Dumbledore about his letter?"

"He assures me it's been completed."

"Excellent. He shan't disappoint, I'm sure."

"Indeed," Snape's voice was cool and calculated, his tone as stern as it had ever been. Apparently his cordiality had ebbed to a stop.

"What should I say to your past self about this letter, sir? Have you thought on it at all?"

He had. He straightened himself, readjusting his flowing robes as he answered, "Say you were given it by myself just before you left. Say that it's proof of your character, and that I instructed you to say so. Make sure I know that you have a similar letter for Professor Dumbledore, as well, and that you will be arriving as a first year come September first. I will not have the roster for my first-year potions classes, only Dumbledore will be privy to that information by that point. It will aid you in gaining my trust of your situation."

"Understood." She was back at her work table, stuffing the envelope into her satchel and pulling out a journal of notes that she'd been accumulating on things she needed to do in the past. He watched her as she scrawled out his instructions, as she did every time he told her something about the mission, even if it was of minor importance. It wasn't unlike her school days, where her notes were organized, articulate, and plentiful. He'd dubbed them to be overkill early in her years, but he kept the similarities he noticed between her notes and his from his own school days to himself. As she sat still, he watched as her handwriting began to slow in pace, from quick and precise to lulled and concentrated. He looked up to see her blinking profusely, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"If you're feeling drowsy, Miss Granger, then perhaps you should rest."

Hermione looked up to her Professor, who's face showed a sneer but his eyes looked almost concerned, "I am in no need of sleep, sir. These last details need to be accounted for."

"Miss Granger, it is of no use to lie to me. I am not a fool."

Hermione cocked her head to the side slightly, her eyebrows twitching into an attempt to knit together, but she stopped herself, keeping her outer countenance cool and gathered, "I have not lied to you, sir. You were the one who told me how important these details..."

"You withhold the truth from me, regardless of _details_." he cocked an eyebrow pointedly at her, looking just underneath her gaze to the bags under eyes, "You think I would not noticed the way you present yourself on certain days? The way your under-eyes darken and your skin pales? The way you always seem to be in need of a Pepper-Up potion despite your determination to act energetic?"

Hermione felt a wedge of panic slip into her ultimate feeling of having been insulted, "I did not ask to be assessed by your keen eye, Professor."

"I am a spy, it is second nature." he waved her off, "Are you going to tell me the truth now, Granger, or do I have to extract it from you myself?"

She squinted at him, as if to make his motives clear to her by sight alone, "How long have you known?"

There it was. She was beginning to put the pieces together. Such was the mind of a Gryffindor to be so wrapped up in their emotion that they fail to see obvious truths. "Before we commenced meeting down here, I'm afraid." he replied.

Hermione huffed her annoyance, putting one hand mildly on her hip while giving her eyes a slight roll, "Malfoy mentioned to me that you might've known. Did he speak with you?"

"No," Snape replied, "He's been as silent as you." It was the truth.

Hermione began tapping her foot on the stone floor, suddenly aware of the coolness of the dungeon air on her skin, causing gooseflesh to appear on her arms. She brought her cloak up around her shoulders to press it more firmly to her skin, "Luckily for you, sir, it is of no concern to you."

"_No_ concern?" he retorted, "You mean that it is of no concern of mine that you, a girl suffering from the after-effects of a war and the homicide of her partner, are going to go back in time in order to aid Dumbledore and myself in an effort to save the wizarding world from an oncoming war, when you can't even manage to get a proper full night's sleep?"

Hermione felt her blood begin to boil, "With all due respect, sir, if you doubt my abilities perhaps you should enlist the help of a more suitable candidate? I'm sure Malfoy wouldn't mind an opportunity to redeem himself, or perhaps Harry would like to…"

"It must be you, Granger. I've told you this before, and I do not like that I've had to repeat it."

Hermione leveled a glare at him that mimicked his own, her anger letting loose her tongue before she could stop herself, "Then perhaps you should quit whining about the inevitable and learn to embrace it. You can't complain constantly while knowing that something is unavoidable and _not_ look like a complete git."

Snape fumed in his frame, though he could not deny her point. Perhaps becoming a portrait had made his stubbornness flexible, or perhaps looking at the girl with her pale face and a sneer to match his own made him reflect upon himself and his choice in a time-traveling candidate. He felt his face begin to relax in the silence of the moment as Granger looked to him with wide, fiery eyes for an answer. He couldn't explain it, but his opinion of her was changing, and with it, the only thing that was suddenly on his mind was Lily. He was confused for a moment, and was careful not to show his confusion on his features for Granger to observe. Yet he had realized in the silence that perhaps Granger could prove to be his equal, a good match for his personality, just as Lily had once complimented him so well. He would also soon realize that perhaps where her stubbornness was concerned, she would match him in a way Lily did not. For a brief moment, he envied his past self for the turn his life was about to take. But the moment came and went without any knowledge of his thoughts passing to the young woman in front of him.

"Miss Granger," his voice was low, but the venom of his inflexible attitude was missing from his tone. Hermione picked up on it, "Why is it you have nightmares of me?"

Hermione was stunned for a brief moment, her facial features freezing in place while she processed the notion that Severus Snape had just asked her something personal- as if he _wanted_ to know. She looked away from his portrait, reminding herself that this was not, in fact, the same Snape she had known in life but only an echo of his former self (perhaps some details had been lost in the translation of his personality to his portrait? Perhaps whatever force had created him made him more sympathetic than he was in the flesh?), and pondered if she should answer his question or just ignore it.

_He bothered to ask you,_ a small voice in the back of her head mentioned, _Perhaps you should give it a chance. Not like you'll be here for much longer._

She took a deep breath and called back the memories of her multiple nightmares, remembering the moments that differed between Snape's actual death and the dreams that had plagued her afterwards. She held her breath in her lungs, her chest puffed outward as she gained the courage to show one of the most insulting men she'd ever known a piece of her most vulnerable past. She prayed that she would not pay for it later in scathing remarks.

"Your death, sir," she began in small voice laced with growing confidence, "It… unsettled me. You became something that night that you never were before. I… couldn't make sense of it, I suppose."

"What _ever_ do you mean?" So it had begun- the very quips she was afraid of. She summoned her Gryffindor courage, reminding herself that she would have to put up with a much less tolerant version of the portrait subject in front of her, and continued.

"You grovelled to Voldemort, sir," she forced the words out of her just as she forced her eyes back up the shrewd gaze of her former professor, "And I am under the impression that you do not _grovel_."

Snape looked over her, taking in her affirmative stance and determined look, absorbing the way she faced him with resolve and just the slightest hint of fear in her eyes, only detectable due to his years of searching for fine details. Malfoy had asked him in private a few weeks back why he had not asked him or Potter or anyone else to go back- why he had chosen Granger for such an arduous task. His reply had been simple, her wisdom and knowledge was enough to tell her when to be afraid, yet she chose to be brave anyways. Potter knew how to be brave, but he barely understood when to truly be afraid; too gung-ho. Malfoy, as cunning and clever as he was, would run in fear at the slightest notion of a threat. Any other person he'd considered landed somewhere on the spectrum between Potter and Malfoy, but nobody had found a perfect balance like Granger had. She was unique in that sense, much like himself. He knew, as he looked into her determined eyes, that he had chosen the proper candidate to travel back in time. He let Hermione continue.

"I watched you be helpless to a man who had no regard for your life," she stated formally, "I watched you be killed in one of the worst ways I'd seen, even in the midst of a bloody war. You were…" she trailed off, her eyes leaving his and settling on a spot on the stone floor before continuing, "not the person that I had relied on you to be. It unarmed me."

His eyebrows came together at her statement. The person she had _relied_ on him to be? What was that supposed to mean? She lifted her gaze back to his and took in his look of confusion. She saw that he did not understand, or perhaps could not understand, just how firm of a figure he was in her life.

"You were always someone I could count on to act rather than talk," she continued, hoping to clarify her feelings lest he misinterpret her and rake into her, "I held great respect for you in that you were a strong person, one who did not bend for another, even if you had let yourself be ruled by them. You are…" she searched for the right words, "Strong. Courageous, even- though I didn't fully realized that until after your passing. You are the type of person who remains constant in their demeanor. You always treated Gryffindors a certain way, you always taught your classes with clarity, you always understood in intricate detail whatever it was you spoke of, and you were always logical, and you always carried yourself in such a way as to radiate power and control. To see that consistency become crippled in the face of someone I didn't know if we could defeat or not," an involuntary shiver ran up her spine, "I wasn't so sure we could do it. There were already so many dead, but your death had been my breaking point."

Snape didn't know how to react. His stern countenance had faded as she spoke. It was almost as if she had respected him to some degree, even though she believed him to be a Death Eater. Snape was, for the first time in years, shocked.

He inhaled, checking his tone so it was as soft as he could bear it to be, "I… don't exactly know how to respond."

"You don't have to, sir," she tried for a smile as he watched her shove down the raw emotions that the conversation had brought to the forefront of her mind, "I'm glad I get to go back. I… don't want to leave you alone in a time where you need people around you that you can trust. I could see it in your eyes, you know," the look on her face was soft and kind, "I saw that you knew what was going to happen. I saw that you wanted someone to truly be there for you, so you wouldn't have to die alone." she cleared her throat, "I would've been that person, but I thought you were a Death Eater. And I was shocked at the situation…"

"You do not need to babble about it," Snape interrupted, though his tone was not accusing or rude. He was letting her know, in his own brisk way, that he understood, "I know what you mean. I…" he looked around at the borders of his frame, hoping their crafter had inscribed the words he needed to say next on its edges, "I am lucky to have someone such as you to aid me. It is reassuring to know that you… understand something of my life."

Hermione warmed at his words, feeling like she had finally made proud a teacher that had impossibly high standards. Perhaps, she had.

They spent the rest of the evening continuing to prepare, both secretly happy that they had, somehow, gained the trust of the other.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

"Tell me the plan, once more now."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Malfoy quizzed her for the umpteeth time that week, stuffing the red envelope that sealed Professor Dumbledore's letter to himself inside her beaded bag with her undetectable extension charm. She, Malfoy, Snape, and Dumbledore were all in the dungeon classroom that night. It was dark out, and the school was still. Even though the anxiety she was dealing with made her impatient with Malfoy's constant hovering concerning her preparedness and her well-being, she was grateful for it. One could never be too prepared, especially when she was about to skip backwards in time by twelve years into a world that wouldn't know her. Besides, it showed her that Malfoy cared, and the thought gave her the ambition to succeed.

Dumbledore and Snape watched from the portrait while Hermione huffed and began to recite, as if by heart, "I'm spinning the time turner ten times to go back in time by ten years. Because the positioning of the day and time, Snape's calculations claim that I will be sent back in time to the night of August fifth in 1991, to Harry's first year. I'll be in Snape's quarters at the time. My first action will be to down the potion you'll give me to stabilize my magic and my molecules, so my existence isn't stretched over the time-space continuum. Then I will confront Snape and give him the letter that he wrote for himself, then ask to see Professor Dumbledore, who I will give the second letter to." Hermione rummaged through her beaded bag as she spoke, finding the invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map she'd borrowed from Harry, as well as her research texts, books for reading in her spare time, her clothes and her toiletries. He made room deep in the back of her bag for the potions and magical items Malfoy would be giving her in a few minutes, once she finished her checklist of things to do for the final time.

"Then," she continued, "I'll be given my own room, where I'll unpack and prepare for the road ahead, then ward my door so no one can enter without my password, just like the Headmaster's office. I will be enlisted into the Order and provide aid when necessary to stop the rise of Voldemort. I will also be Horcrux hunting while school is not in session in order to get a head start on Voldemort while acting as an additional bodyguard for Harry," she set her beaded bag on the table and picked up the time turner. It looked just like her old time turner, two gold rings on a gold chain with a small hourglass in the middle with a special potion of Snape's own discovery in the hourglass instead of the usual sand. She looped it around her head, holding it carefully with one hand so it wouldn't spin on its own and send her to the wrong time, "I will also be aiding Professor Snape while he works as a double agent for the Order, in order to best maintain his cover. As we've mentioned, my goal, aside from assisting his spy-regimen, I will also be acting on making his life more comfortable by helping with school assignments and student care, as well as making sure he is fit so Madam Pomfrey will not know about his being a secret agent." Snape had told them that he had been responsible for treating his own wounds during the process of Voldemort's reincarnation, which had made Hermione's heart ache. She had insisted that she help the Professor with issues pertaining to his health, to which portrait-Snape had reluctantly agreed to, though she did have more plans than that in store for her time in the past.

"My main goal will be to preserve Harry's life, kill all the Horcruxes, and work for the Order as a secret agent." she finished at long last.

Malfoy nodded his affirmation of her being correct, yet again, on the chain of events that she would stick to, "Now here's your potions," he said, motioning to the counter and showing the multiple phials that he had filled with various potions, three bottles per potion save for one slightly larger phial with black liquid inside and an opaque vial no longer than her pinky. First, he handed her the three phials filled with pink liquid, labeled in his handwriting with the words _Careful Dosage_, "This is the time-stabilizing potion. Drink the one whole phial the second you stabilize in time, then half a phial each day for four more days to ensure your stability in the time-space continuum."

Second were the phials with a deep green liquid, "Polyjuice." he announced, handing her the potions as she reached out for them, putting them into their designated spot in her bag.

"Calming Draughts… Dreamless Sleep… Headache Reliever… Blood Replenisher… Essence of Dittany… Draught of the Living Death… Pepper Up potion…" Malfoy listed off each potion in rhythm to Hermione's packing. Some of the potions were temporary stores, but Hermione had packed her _Appendix of Potion Recipes _that she'd made for herself, with Snape's help, so that she'd easily be able to replenish her stores as needed.

"Finally," Malfoy held up the two final bottles up in each hand, "These two are very important, so be careful with them," he held up the slightly larger bottle of black liquid labeled with an _HP_ in Malfoy's elegant script, "This is the Horcrux potion for Potter. He's going to have to drink the whole thing and be under medical supervision for three days. The process of removing the Horcrux should be rather quick, but the pain during and after the removal will be… extreme." Hermione took the phial and set it in her bag with the the invisibility cloak to ensure it wouldn't get smashed in the process of time travel. Snape had told them he had invented such a potion when Dumbledore had first told him that Harry was a Horcrux, under the idea that if he could give it to Harry before he died at Voldemort's hand, he could be guaranteed to live. However, by the time the potion had been invented and properly developed, Harry was long gone from Hogwarts and was on the run, while Snape was under the constant supervision of Voldemort while he ran Hogwarts- he never got a proper chance to give the potion to Harry. Now was the time that his brilliant potion could finally go to good use. Hermione was determined that his effort would not go to waste.

Last, Malfoy held up the small opaque bottle and set it gently in Hermione's hand. Upon closer inspection, Hermione saw that the opaque quality of the phial was not the phial at all, but in fact the potion which was an opaque, churning gold. Malfoy tapped the phial with his index finger, "I went ahead and made Felix Felicis for you as well," he recited, a small smile of pride beginning to grow on his mischievous looking face, "For emergencies."

Hermione looked up into the gray eyes of her friend and smiled brilliantly before tucking the Felix Felicis into her bag carefully, "Thank you, Malfoy. I promise I won't waste it."

"I know you won't," Malfoy informed her, "Conservative little swot that you are."

"You arse," Hermione giggled, clipping her beaded bag shut with a quick snap. She turned to the portrait to face the two former Headmasters with a beaming smile, though the moment itself was melancholy. Dumbledore smiled at her with an infectious grin punctuated by the typical twinkling of his impish blue eyes behind their half-moon spectacles. Snape, on the other hand, looked nearly indifferent to the whole affair. He leaned nonchalantly onto the podium in the frame, looking as bored as he ever could be, but he wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes.

"Good luck, my girl," Dumbledore told her, nodding towards her respectfully, "You will do a splendid job, I am certain. You have done so well. It has been my honor to know you, and it will be again." his grin widened.

"I will do my best, sir," Hermione chimed proudly, her body alive with giddiness at the Headmaster's obvious pride. She looked at Snape then, hoping for some kind of reassurance from him. As cordial as he had become comfortable being through the last few months, any good nature towards her seemed to had vanished, only to be replaced by his typical scowl that she used to find him wearing, similar to the night they had first met, face to canvas, in the dungeon classroom.

He looked up at her briefly before casting his eyes towards Dumbledore in an accusatory stare. Dumbledore saw it, grinned, and briefly left the frame, the edge of his robes still visible from the edge of the frame. Hermione neared the portrait, hopeful that Snape would see this as a chance to say goodbye. Just as she had hoped, he did.

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger," his low voice was reminiscent of her time spent in his classroom as a student, "That you may just have the makings of someone who will become… close to me." he seemed to wince as the words left his mouth, and Hermione's mouth stretched even further as her smile grew.

"I certainly hope so, sir." she whispered in return, causing his eyes to quirk back to hers and shimmer with an almost hopeful sparkle.

"You were always a smart student, you know," he admitted, deciding it was best to lay all his cards on the table while he still had a chance, "I can only hope you will remain as bright in the past as you are in the present."

"I'll do my best."

He nodded knowingly, "I know you will," he murmured. His stern countenance had yet to shift, but his voice had become soft, softer than Hermione had ever heard it before. "I… must express my gratitude to you for taking on this project. I know it is not exactly optimal, but I knew you would be the one to handle so big a job as this."

Hermione's chest swelled from the inside with pride, but tried not to let it show, lest she be reprimanded, "Th-thank you, sir."

"I only hope that you will… learn to trust me in turn."

She saw a look of fear in his eyes, something that would've gone undetected had she not had a keen eye for detail herself, and her heart melted for the man, "You want to know a secret, sir?" she whispered in an even hushed tone than before, as she leaned towards the portrait, covering her mouth so Malfoy would not see her lips move, "I already do."

At this, Snape's mouth twitched at its edges in what Hermione assumed would've grown into a smile had he let it, but he was far too protective of himself to allow it. She added quickly, "And I am only too honored to able to assist you, sir, both now and then." She watched as Snape lifted his head by a fraction as she stepped away from the frame, queuing Dumbledore to return to the portrait. "I'll see you both soon!" she called as she joined Malfoy near the door of the classroom, feeling the dungeon's brisk air bite her arms as she joined him.

"Farewell, Miss Granger," Dumbledore called, waving.

Snape inclined his head in the first sign of respect that Hermione had ever received from him, "Good luck… Hermione."

Hermione's eyes shimmered as she met the dense eyes of her Potions Professor, who gave her a small, unknowing smirk. Unbeknownst to her, he saw her face beam with light and pride at his call to her, and he drank it in for one last time.

"Thank you, Severus." she said without thought. She turned around as Malfoy opened the dungeon door for her and stepped out into the hallway, the last look on her Professor's face burned into her memory in the sweetest branding she could ever bear, leaving the two Headmasters in the classroom as she and Malfoy traveled to Professor Snape's old rooms.

They walked in silence for a number of paces, both of them unsure of what to say to their newfound friend. "I think you'll be brilliant, Granger," Malfoy eventually informed her with a smile as the cool air gave them both gooseflesh on their trek to their destination, "You and Severus seem to have a good dynamic. You'll help him a lot, if he lets you."

Hermione gripped the time turner, feeling the potion slosh around in the hourglass with every step she took, "I hope he does," she sighed, melancholy filling her as she remembered she had just left the Snape who already knew her only to go join a much younger, more untrustworthy Snape who would most likely berate her, on his good days, for the foreseeable future.

"Gra-...Hermione," Malfoy said, a slight waver to his voice as they approached the door to Professor Snape's room at the end of the corridor, she flashed a smile to the floor, realizing that two very untrusting men had just called her by her first name tonight, signifying their relationship to her. He turned to her as he set his hand on the door handle, "I want to thank you. For giving me a chance to be your friend, and for trusting me," he scratched the back of his platinum blonde hair, clearly uncomfortable, but also making a physical effort to inform Hermione of his thoughts, and she loved the blonde git for it.

"You didn't have to trust me or even try to talk to me, especially after all that happened in school and the war, but you did anyway. And I'll…" he choked on his words, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His face began to go blotchy and his voice quivered as he finished, "I'll always be grateful for that, Hermione. I hope that, no matter what happens, you turn out the better for this. And I hope that no matter the outcome, that I'll see you as a good person."

Hermione's eyes began to well with tears at her friend's emotional response. She held out her arms and wrapped them around her friend, holding him close as he clutched her to him, "I'll never forget you, Draco," she said over his shoulder, losing his last name in favor of his first, just as she had done for Severus, "You are such a good friend, and I'm so glad to have gotten a proper chance to know you again." She pulled away from him and patted one of his shoulders affectionately, "I'll miss you."

He sniffled, clearly trying and failing to hold back tears as they sprung from his lashes to his sharp cheekbones, "I'll miss you, too, you wanker."

Hermione smiled as Draco opened the door to the musty chambers using a disarming spell that Snape had told them to use. Draco waved his wand and the lights turned on. The whole place was covered in dust, but left nearly untouched since the Potions Master had lived there. They had walked into the sitting room, furnished with a couch and two armchairs, the same kind that had been painted into Snape's portrait in the Headmistress's office, in front of a cold and blackened fireplace, above it was a clock that had stopped working. On either side of the hearth were two bookcases, situated side by side, and filled with a plethora of books. There was a coat rack attached to the wall opposite the fireplace, which was hung near a table that had random trinkets and papers. Some were littered on the floor, which Hermione attributed to thieves rummaging through a dead man's belongings. There was a hall past the bookcases furthest from the door, which Hermione saw had three doors. They were all open, allowing Hermione to give a slight peek into a bathroom and a study, making the last room she couldn't see into, at the back of the hall, the master bedroom. She could smell, underneath the grime and mothballs of the years passed, a distant smell that reminded her of him and triggered old memories of her Potions classes. It was the scent of old paper and black tea, she decided after a split-second debate with herself. She was lucky she liked the combination, as she was going to have to get used to it very soon.

"You know," Draco said, having composed himself as they stopped in the middle of the sitting room, "I don't think you were telling the truth to Snape, earlier."

Hermione grinned mischievously, "You don't say?"

"What's your plan, really, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at her surroundings more, in the dim light it looked like something worthy of a horror movie, "Not much different from the original plan, really."

"No?"

She nodded, grinning at Draco like she'd won a prize, "The only thing I plan on doing that's different is having a different living situation."

Draco paled, if it was possible for him to pale more than he already was, "Oh, God, Hermione. You can't be serious."

She nodded vigorously, "Oh, yes I can. Besides, it's more cost-effective."

"_Here?_" he demanded in disbelief, "You expect me to believe you'll be living _here_?"

She nodded.

"With _Snape_? My old cuck of a godfather, Severus Snape."

She nodded again, her mouth becoming sore from smiling so much.

"Won't Dumbledore have to approve of it?"

"Won't he want his most importance spy safe and taken care of?" Hermione raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Draco shook his head is disbelief, his eyes wide, "Merlin, Hermione, I wasn't aware you had a death wish."

"Oh, he won't do anything," Hermione waved off the comment like a fly, "He'll know my purpose and won't mess with it, you know that… He might _hex_ me, but-"

Draco threw his hands into the air, "I can't believe you. You Gryffindors always bite off more than you can chew." he sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides, "I just hope you know what you're doing."

She nodded, "I have confidence. But the only way to find out is through in-practice study." She lifted the time turned up from her neck to look at it. Draco looked back at her, a small smile playing on his lips, partly happy for the adventure his friend was to embark on, and partly in mourning for losing her in the process.

"Stay safe, Granger."

She nodded, "See you on the first, Malfoy."

And with that, Hermione spun the time turner carefully ten times, and her surroundings blurred around her as she was violently shot backwards ten years worth of time.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

August 5th, 1991

The world stopped spinning after what felt like a ten minute roller coaster, and Hermione lurched forward, grabbing hold of the back of armchair to steady herself. Her vision was tilted and swirling, her ears were ringing horribly, and all of her limbs felt as if they had fallen asleep. She looked around at her surroundings, and to her pleasure, they were different. The dust and grime was gone, the papers on the table in the back were stacked neatly and a two black cloaks hung on the coat rack opposite her. The lights were on and warmed the room in a homey and inviting way, and a fire crackled and popped in the fireplace behind her. The scent of his rooms was more pure and no longer masked by the smell of the grunge that had accumulated there. Instead, she smelled nothing but that old paper and black tea, as well as ink and even the fresh scent of some kind of soap. The couch and armchairs were not musty and full of holes. Instead they looked plush and well taken care of, comfy enough for her to plop down and fall asleep on. However, she knew that sleep was a ways off. She turned around and looked at the clock, which was ticking, and saw the time was 10:46. She'd made it.

She rummaged through her bag, remembering Malfoy's strict instructions, and pulled out one of the phials of pink potion that would stabilize her physical form in time. She downed the potion which, much to her disgust, tasted like three-years-expired pumpkin juice, and instantly began to regain feeling in her limbs while the ringing in her ears began to ebb away. That was when she heard the running of water in a shower coming from down the hall, and her whole body went tense.

Professor Snape was taking a shower.

Fuck.

Her mind began to race. She knew how some men were after showering, especially if they were alone. Weasley used to simply walk out of the bathroom in the raw, completely uncaring as to whether Hermione would see him or not. She didn't think Snape could be similar… she prayed that he wasn't. Hermione wasn't entirely sure what to do. She didn't know if anyone or anything (Peeves was the first to come to mind) was out in the hallway, she couldn't bloody well stay in the living room and wait for him to find her in whatever state he was in. Would she hide in the study? No, it would scare him. The bedroom? Oh _Merlin _have mercy, _no._ She couldn't live with the embarrassment if she went that far.

Her blood ran cold as she heard a faint squeak followed by the silence that followed the water being shut off.

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…_

She looked around the room looking for a place to hide when she remembered she had Harry's invisibility cloak. She could've slapped herself for not thinking of it sooner. She ripped open the clasp of her beaded bag and began to rummage through the many things she had packed. In her time and panic-addled mind, she couldn't find the cloak. First she pulled out an old jumper, then a shirt, then a blanket. Ah, yes! There it is!

She nearly had a stroke as she went to throw it over herself in her panic, but stopped mid-motion, dread filling her suddenly frozen limbs.

She was too late.

There in the front of the hallway, clad in nothing but a small towel that barely covered the bottom half of his torso, stood a very tall, very menacing, and _very _angry Severus Snape.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

**A/N: hehehehe *taps fingertips together mischievously* xD I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I had an especially good time writing that last bit… Thanks to all of you who have favorited, followed and reviewed! I've been reading every review and am THRILLED TO BITS that you all are liking it so far! We've now come to the point where the real story begins. For those of you concerned about the intricacies involving time travel and all of that, have no fear! The next chapter will explain all the lovely little details surrounding Hermione's true plan as well as how she got to 8/5/1991 in the first place. I'll be back soon with chapter four, where we finally get to meet the Severus of the rest of the story! Leave a review and tell me what you guys think! **

**Happy reading, y'all!**

**-Cherry**


	5. Chapter 4: With Anger and Honesty

Chapter Four

With Anger and Honesty...

Hermione's felt her face flush as she realized _exactly_ what kind of a situation she was in. After a brief moment of initial shock passed between them both, they simultaneously launched into action. Hermione dropped her wand and the cloak onto the floor, raising her hands high above her head to show she was unarmed. Snape, on the other hand, let go of his towel with one of his hands and shot out the opposite appendage towards the bedroom, where his black wand came soaring towards him. Instantly, the wand was in her Professor's hand, and was being pointed directly at her, at which point her eyes were kept trained on the tip of his wand until he spoke.

His face wore the most aggressive sneer she'd ever seen on him, and when he spoke his voice was low, dangerous, and dripping with absolute revulsion and hatred, "And just who in _bleeding _Merlin's hell are _you_?"

Hermione cleared her throat, her body still gaining feeling from her jump back in time, and replied with a husky voice, as though she was in the process of losing it, "My name is Hermione Granger, sir. I'm not a threat." she winced as those last words escaped her mouth, though in hindsight she couldn't blame herself- Snape looked positively murderous.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded, his voice was cold and unforgiving. She wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to hex her just for being there. She hated to think what he'd do if she were noncompliant.

"I came here via time turner, sir," she looked down at the time turner around her neck and back up at her Professor, who she was now beginning to get a good look at. He was pale all over, to such an extreme that he nearly looked gray. His form was sinewy, but not unfit, with lean yet developed muscles stretching over the bones in his arms and legs. She could see marks and scars lacing around the majority of his frame, as well as sparse hairs smattered across his ever-slightly defined chest. He seemed to be a good balance between elegantly lean and strongly built. His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and textured also with a small trail of hair…

Her eyes snapped up to his again, her face blanching at realizing what she was just thinking. Sure, it had been a long time- not since Weasley, in fact- but she hadn't dubbed herself to be _that_ desperate. Instead of focusing on her inappropriate thoughts, or the slightly raised eyebrow that had risen on her Professor's face, which made him look a cross between fuming mad and slightly curious, she decided to continue her sentence for further explanation, "I came from the future to…" she swallowed, images of her lost partner and the very man in front of her bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack had suddenly occupied the front of her mind, "...Save those who don't need to be lost, sir."

"Speak _plainly_, witch," Snape's voice was still dangerously low as took a step forward, gripping his towel around his waist with a fiercely balled fist as he twisted his wand in its place while his sneer grew to bend his face into a nearly inhuman snarl, "I will _not_ ask again."

Hermione straightened both her spine and her resolve as she responded, "Voldemort will soon be on the rise again, sir. I've been sent back to aid in the anti-war effort."

His eyes flashed with something akin to shock, but his eyebrows made him look like he'd finally found some lost piece of evidence that he could use to lock her away in Azkaban, "You _lie!" _he shouted.

"No, sir, I promise I'm not!" she raised her hands up higher, as if that could possibly defend her, panic beginning to reign supreme in her mind as he became more and more stubborn against her, "There's a note in my bag! In a green envelope, it's a note that you wrote for yourself to read, sir. You knew you'd doubt me, so I had you write proof that I wasn't lying. Please…"

She was close to cowering as he bored into her, weighing whether or not she could be telling the truth before flicking his wand with a barely audible, "_Accio." _Her bag snapped open and the green envelope soared from her bag and into his waiting hand. In order to open it, he had to lower his wand, which gave Hermione her first glimpse of the Dark Mark imprinted into the inner forearm of his right arm. It was only a brief glimpse, Hermione remembered how portrait-Severus never showed or mentioned the Mark on his arm out of what she deemed to be self-hate or guilt. He didn't like to show weakness, and he seemed to view his Mark as one. What she did see, though, before he pulled his arm into his abdomen, was a portion of the snake that looped around the skull near the bend in his elbow. He opened the envelope with the flick of his fingers- Hermione saw exactly how dexterous his hands were from years of dueling and potion making, to hold a wand, catch an envelope and open it all with his right hand alone- and pulled out the letter from inside with his teeth. He was still gripping his towel with one hand, which she knew he could not be enjoying, while his other hand reached to grab the letter from his white but crooked teeth, looking over it as he brought the parchment down from his face. His eyes flicked back up to her, where she looked upwards to her hands and back to him, nonverbally cueing him that she was not about to move. Then he began to read.

Hermione had decided to not read portrait-Severus's letter when the parchment had reappeared in the podium. She saw it as a breach of privacy in one way, and an utterly dumb move in another. For one, Severus was a very private man. He didn't let anyone into his mind or life without a rigorous background check that likely never ebbed to a stop, so why would he ever have reason to trust Hermione, whom he had barely started to like in his portrait form, if she didn't respect his privacy? Second, if the Snape who stood before her now were to have used Legilimency on her after having read his letter and saw its contents in her mind, he would have reason to assume it to be fake or been given by force. Snape was clearly a very cautious man- cautious bordering on paranoia. If he caught one glimpse of the contents of that letter in her mind, she could give up on her mission to help him now. However, none of these thoughts trumped the utter curiosity she felt at watching his face react to the words he read.

At first he looked at the parchment with scrunched eyebrows and a critical glare. Then the further he read into the letter, the more relaxed his body became, but his eyes told a different story. He was controlling some raging emotion, she could tell by the way his face went slack but his features froze in place right after relaxing. She'd seen that very reaction several times on the very man in front of her as well as his own portrait. She'd tried to explain it to Malfoy before, when he had told her he never saw the details in his godfather's reactions to things, and described it as the churning of his agitated and anguished soul just beneath the surface of his skin, rolling around in the cage of flesh it was contained to. She had considered it one of her more poetic moments, though now she was reminded of how true her words had been.

But then something shifted his entire demeanor as he shifted his thumb from the middle of the letter to make way for his wandering, trained eye. His gaze seemed to clear of that coiling emotion behind them as his gaze wandered from one side of the page to the other. Briefly, though only for one barely detectable moment, Snape's eyes wandered upward to hers, assessing her gaze like she was another part of the note before him, before flipping the parchment over and finishing the letter. At long last, though Hermione could have watched his controlled reactions for the remainder of the night, he let his arm fall to his side with the letter still in his grasp.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger."

"You were a Professor here? Gryffindor?" he gestured to the small lion that hung on a chain around her neck.

"Yes, sir."

"Potions?"

"No, sir. Defence Against the Dark Arts." he was testing her, but he was being too easy.

"What year are you now?"

"At this moment in time, sir, I will be a first year starting on the first of September."

"Who will you walk in with you when you enter the Great Hall?"

She thought for a moment, "I will be walking behind Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley," she felt the name roll off her tongue but it didn't stop her stomach from falling to the ground and leaving a pit in her abdomen. "I won't be walking with anyone in particular… I believe it was Susan Bones or someone that I was talking to about _Hogwarts, A History_… I won't have many friends until Halloween night."

"And what happens Halloween night?"

"A troll enters the second floor girl's bathroom, sir. Though Professor Quirrell will announce practically to the whole school that it was seen in the dungeons. He will be lying. I will have been in the girl's bathroom by myself when the troll gets me stuck inside. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley will hear me and attempt to save me. You, along with Professor Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall will finally find us all with Harry and Weasley having taken care of the troll."

Snape's eyebrow raised with every word that left her mouth, making it stop practically on the border of his hairline by the time she was finished. He regarded her with silence, looking her up and down one final time before saying in a drawl, "Indeed." Hermione waited for more questioning.

"You become friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley." he stated, as if wanting clarification.

"Yes, sir."

"Hmph. To be expected of a bloody Gryffindor, I suppose. Befriending random individuals merely because they saved you from some threat, whether truly dangerous or no."

Hermione closed her eyes, rolling them under their lids, before opening them again to her crotchety professor. It didn't escape her notice, however, that his last statement showed, only in the slightest, that he was believing her so far. She inwardly sighed in relief.

"What class will I be teaching you?" he questioned further.

"Beginning Potions. I will be in the Gryffindor-Slytherin class on Fridays." She adjusted her arms in their sockets, they were beginning to ache from being lifted for so long.

Snape regarded her with an attitude to rival a fourteen year old girl. He did everything but place a hand on a cocked hip. "You will wait here until I've dressed. Then we find the Headmaster."

"Excellent, sir. I have a letter for…"

"I know," he spat, cutting her off bitterly, "_Sit,_ and be _silent_, Miss Granger." He motioned to the couch that stood directly behind her before waving his wand, placing a set of temporary wards around her, cleverly separating her from her wand. She could see the line, like the age line Dumbledore had placed around the Triwizard Cup in her fourth year, glow slightly for a moment in the air before settling into the ground below it, absorbed by the carpet. She sat down on the comfortable sofa, pulling her robes against the backs of her legs to keep the atmosphere formal. She watched as he stomped from the room, towel still covering what little it could. He looked like his already-stressful night had been made worse by her appearing in his sitting room, which she would bet was the actual case anyways, though she did manage to notice how that stress didn't seem to show on his countenance. He carried himself strongly, with such confidence and control that she could feel it coming off in waves so overwhelming, so much so that she felt a similar fear of him that she did when she was in school, but the rush was different. First of all, she was old enough to view him more as a peer rather than a superior, which already made things odd. Second, however, was the growing realization that she was meeting a man who, on one hand, she had witnessed die in the Shack seven years into the future, and on the other hand, had never met her a day before in his life. There would be no memories for him of calling her an insufferable know it all, nor would he remember remarking savagely about the shape of her teeth, or even just snapping at her in class for helping Neville. He had no idea who she was, really. He had, in his own time, literally just met her. The notion boggled Hermione's mind slightly, but no more than she had prepared for since before she'd left her own time. She heard footsteps in the bedroom and saw Professor Snape march out of the doorway and back into the sitting room, now fully clothed in what she recognized to be his regular teaching robes. He'd dried his hair with a drying charm but it was rushed, as the ends of his hair were still bunched together with moisture and his hair looked frazzled. The scowl that had been on his face since she first saw him was still etched into his features as he bent down and scooped up her wand and cloak, stowing them away in an inner pocket of his robes while he removed the wards he'd placed around her with the flick of his wand. Roughly, he grabbed her upper arm and tore her away from the couch.

"If you've been here before, lead can us to the Headmaster yourself." he demanded, shoving her in front of him. She glared at him for his roughness before straightening herself and her robes and marching out of Snape's chambers.

She led them practically by muscle memory from the dungeons to the Headmaster's office. She even caught a glimpse of the classroom Snape would soon be teaching her and her fellow Potions-classmates in. The light was off, but she could tell just from the state of the door that the room was in use, and the thought of it no longer being the desolate dungeon she, Malfoy, Severus, and Albus had been working in made her heart feel light. She could tell Snape was watching her carefully and scrutinizingly from the moment she stepped in front of him, but she didn't waver. She knew she could trust him, in the long run, and the similar notions of his being more of a peer than a teacher considering their shrunken age gap made her trust and her comfort level increase with the brooding man stalking behind her.

Many staircases and hallways later, she found herself in front the gargoyles that would lead up into the Headmaster's office. She turned to look at Snape, who looked as equally pleased as he did displeased as he stopped behind her.

"According to Harry, the password was 'lemondrops', but I'm not sure if that comes into effect later in the year or not."

Snape peered at her through the corner of his eye while he neared the gargoyles and stated, "Lemondrops." And the staircase revolved to meet them. Hermione's mouth twitched into a grin as Snape motioned for her to enter the staircase first.

"You've met the Headmaster before?" Snape presumed as he followed her up the stair.

"Yes. I worked with the Order starting after my fourth year. And I managed to find trouble every year of my schooling which Dumbledore couldn't help but notice was centered around a pattern."

"Indeed."

"I can explain more in Dumbledore's office, sir," Hermione supplied, stopping in front of the door to the Headmaster's office, waiting for Snape to knock. "I don't think you'll appreciate me repeating myself."

He regarded her with a brief, but tempered, snarl, which she supposed meant that she was right, as he moved next to her to knock on the oak door. They waited in silence as she heard shuffling on the other side of the door, followed by the opening of another door inside and the sound of footsteps towards the door in front of them.

Dumbledore opened the door to the pair of them, and his blue eyes visibly showed shock at the sight of Snape standing behind a beaming young woman he had never seen.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said to her with a smile. He looked to Snape, "Severus…?"

"We have a situation, Headmaster," Snape drawled as he pushed past Hermione to get inside the office. Dumbledore let him come in, then stood out of the way to allow Hermione to enter the office. She entered quietly with small nod to the Headmaster and went to stand in front of the desk on the opposite side of the room.

Dumbledore shut the door behind him and strode over to the desk. He was wearing a set of purple night robes which dragged along the floor as he approached his desk, as well as his typical pair of half-moon spectacles that were perched on the end of his nose.

"Well, as I already know who Severus is, and apparently so do you," he motioned politely to Hermione as he sat down in the Headmaster's chair, still smiling widely, "Perhaps introductions are in order?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, Headmaster," she stated plainly, opening up her small beaded bag and plunging her arm into it until it was buried up to her upper arm and pulling out the red, thick envelope that the portrait of Dumbledore had sent her with, "I have a letter for you, from yourself."

"Ah!" Dumbledore practically danced in his seat as he reached out for the letter, "Time traveler, then? Been a moment since I've dealt with a good time traveling case."

"Your future self told me to tell you that this would explain my situation," she added as she sat down in one of the chairs in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore tore open the envelope as she realized she was sitting in her typical chair that she'd occupy in meetings with Minerva, and that Severus was going to sit in the other chair, where Malfoy usually would sit. She closed her bag as Dumbledore's eyes roved over his letter. Unlike Snape's letter, which had been one one foot-long piece of parchment with his cramped script on both sides, Dumbledore's was two pieces of two-foot long parchment pieces written only on one side. He knew he had wanted to make as much as possible obvious to his former self to better prove Hermione truthful in her story of being a time traveler.

As the Headmaster read, Hermione fingered the time turner carefully, looking down at the magical object. It was the usual gold but with a potion in the hourglass instead of sand. She wondered how Snape had managed to create a potion that would work inside a time turner to replace the time travel sequence from hours to years. As she studied the potion inside its small glass container, she became aware of a dark pair of eyes that had become fixed on her and the time turner. She looked back over to him, briefly meeting his scrutinizing gaze, as if to say _I'll explain later_, and turned her eyes back to the time turner and the potion that sloshed around inside it. A few moments later, Dumbledore cleared his throat and both Hermione and Snape looked back up to him.

"Ten years into the future, then, Miss Granger," he smiled as he pulled open a drawer in his desk and brought out a long scroll, which he unravelled down to the ground. He looked over the top of the scroll at Hermione, who was waiting patiently, "You don't mind if I fact check some things, Miss?"

Hermione shook her head, a smile on her lips. She watched as the Headmaster ran a finger down the list until it settled on something fairly close to the top. "Severus," Dumbledore looked over to his Potions Master, "Did Miss Granger or your own letter mention her classes that she will be taking."

"Beginning Potions with Professor Snape," Hermione responded before Snape could, "Beginning Defense with Professor Quirrell, Beginning Charms with Professor Flitwick, Flying Lessons with Madam Hooch, Beginning Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall," Hermione shrugged, "Shall I continue?"

Dumbledore was nodding while scanning over the scroll as Hermione spoke, and after her question instructed, "No, Miss Granger. I've seen proof enough." he rolled up the scroll and put it away, "So, Miss Granger," he laced his fingers and put his folded hands on the desk, "Was my portrait much like myself now?"

Hermione smiled again, "He was much like yourself, sir," she replied, looking between Professors Snape and Dumbledore as she continued, "Both of your portraits were very much like you both, it seemed to me. Though, you were obviously restricted in your actions because of the nature of your portrait belonging to the Headmistress and the simple fact that you were both portraits…" she trailed off under the increasingly heated stare of Professor Snape and folded her arms over her chest and finishing her thought with enough confidence to at least make her sound unfased, "You both made suitable enough companions."

Snape scoffed at her remark, sitting back in his chair, but Dumbledore merely nodded, "So it would seem." Dumbledore stood up and walked to one of the bookcases behind him, peering at the various knick knacks that accompanied the books on the shelves, "Miss Granger, would you mind humoring a much less knowledgeable old man by telling me a bit about the rules of your traveling back here? I am aware of the rules of time travel, the way it can be seen as common to us, however, simply by being here and speaking to us, while admitting you are a time traveler from years into the future, you are breaking those very rules. Given the fact that I've obviously condoned such behavior makes me wonder what _your_ rules are… if you don't mind."

Hermione straightened a little more as she responded, "Actually, sir, it was Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape who established the rules of yearly time travel. Due to the excess of time, time enough to make mistakes or become known, one can travel back in time, but only under the establishment that the future ought to be changed."

"Hmm," Dumbledore brought a finger to his lips, tapping them gently, "Go on."

"I have come here to deliberately change the future, which is only possible when one travels years rather than days, or even months back into the past. That said, I still cannot let my identity be known by many people, especially not myself from this timeline. Only the people capable of holding a secret of this weight and who can keep it from this timeline's version of me can know, thus why the two of you are in on this."

"And why choose us?" Snape asked, his low voice now more curious than vengeful, "Why choose anyone?"

"I thought I made that clear to you, sir," Hermione replied kindly. "I'm here to save lives." She turned back to Dumbledore, who was listening intently, all charismatic charm replaced by seriousness, "Voldemort begins his return this year, as I'm sure you know…"

"How are you sure?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

"You sent Hagrid to find Harry and take him to Diagon Alley on Harry's birthday, the thirty-first of July," Hermione responded quickly, "There, Hagrid withdrew a package that contained the Philosopher's Stone from a Gringotts Vault, by your orders, and brought it here to be guarded by Fluffy and array of other puzzles created by the Professors of Hogwarts. That was five days ago." The murderous look was back on Snape's face, and she knew that his trust in her was already fading from the amount of information she knew, "Harry, Weasley and I break into the third floor corridor that was locked off at the end of the school year in an attempt to take the Stone before Voldemort and his servant can."

"His servant?" Dumbledore was very concerned now.

"Quirrell," Hermione replied back, "Professor Quirrell encountered Voldemort on his travels and was seduced into becoming a Death Eater. He will give his body to Voldemort and the pair of them fight Harry in the final room as one ."

"I _told_ you, Albus!" Snape was suddenly on his feet, glaring daggers at the Headmaster, who merely blinked up at him in response, "I told you he reeked of lies! That ridiculous stutter! And that _turban-"_

"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore lifted a hand up to silence Snape before turning a soft gaze back to Hermione, "You risk much in telling us this, Miss Granger."

"I know, sir," Hermione agreed, "But it's the truth."

"Do you think it best to act now?"

Hermione stared at the Headmaster, incredulous, then looked down as she pondered her many thoughts on the issue. Finally she looked back up, knowing what should be done, "Not yet, sir." she told him, "Voldemort doesn't appear in Quirrell's body until later in the school year, and even then Harry is still able to defeat him. I think for the sanctity of my mission to end the war as a whole, we should let this year play out as it normally would."

Dumbledore stroked his beard with his long fingers, rocking back from his heels to his toes, "Then that is what we shall do." he decided, sitting back down at the desk, "I take it you become friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, then?"

Hermione nodded, discomfort lacing her stomach, but she pushed it away, "Yes, sir. In October."

"And what of your memories?" Dumbledore pushed, "You risk changing your own past, does that not effect them?"

"No, not entirely, sir," Hermione had prepared for this, "When one travels back years, the potion used to stabilize their bodies into the past also stabilizes their minds as well. It sort of a paradox-cancelling potion. That means that even though I am changing an overall timeline, I keep the memories that I had in my original time and will eventually absorb the altered memories of my younger self."

"And how will that be accomplished?"

"I was instructed by Professor Snape that there is potion that I could brew that would allow for my past self, in an act of _ordinary _time travel, to merge with my current self," she took a deep breath, "The potion would have to be slipped to my younger self without her knowing what it is. She would have to drink an entire dose, then travel at least an hour back in time within the following twenty-four hours after drinking it. The potion, which destabilizes the drinker's form in their time, would then take full effect in the time-space vacuum, and my current self would merge with my younger self, memories and all," Hermione looked between the contemplative stare of Albus Dumbledore and the baffled expression that Snape was giving her, "After my fused selves are stabilized, I could continue on with the rest of my life as I normally would."

Dumbledore looked quite impressed, though Snape looked positively baffled. "There are potions that effectively take you back in time, stabilize you and allow you merge your past self with your present self." he drawled out, as if he wasn't impressed.

"Well, the initial time traveling potion and the fusing potion both must be combined with a time turner to some extent, but for the most part you're correct."

"And I _made_ them?"

Hermione stared at him, his eyes, as dark and brooding as they always seemed to be, were starting to look more like those of a lost boy who had just found his mother after being lost in a supermarket. His shock was not at the notion of the existence of such potions, but at the fact that he had created them.

Suddenly a thought dawned on Hermione, and she felt a fool for not having thought of it sooner.

_Lily._

_He had wanted to go back and save Lily._

And by the look on his face, Hermione realized that's what he was wanting to do in that exact moment, too.

After a moment for her thoughts to rocket around her skull, she nodded in response, "Yes, sir. You came up with the idea. Professor McGonagall assisted you, though you died before you were able to finish your project. Professor McGonagall finished it with the help of your portrait, but she wanted to hand over the time turner to the Ministry for 'better' use, which you didn't agree with. So, without her knowing, since her knowing would cause her to instruct you to stop and therefore halt all other plans that we had made, we worked in the dungeons in your Potions classroom after curfew. Malfoy worked on the potions and research into what potion should be used and for what purposes, I worked on strategy on where I would go and when, as well as researched Voldemort's behavioral patterns to better understand countermeasures he might make after we stop his original plans. You helped with both time travel theory and potions, since you are obviously very accomplished with potions and you worked with Voldemort, while also assisting with strategy. Professor Dumbledore also assisted with strategy concerning my future at Hogwarts and keeping myself under cover while I live here, considering that I'll be here indefinitely." Hermione finally stopped to take a breath. Snape, on the other hand, couldn't decide if he was angry, impressed, or confused.

Dumbledore looked perplexed as he absorbed the information that Hermione had to say. Finally, he took a breath in, held it for a moment while he considered a thought, and then spoke, "Severus… would you mind giving Miss Granger and I a moment? I'd like to discuss this plan she's mentioned. If you don't mind, Miss." he added to Hermione. She shook her head in allowance.

It didn't take much to get Severus up and out of his chair, and he quickly left the room, shutting the office's door behind him. With that, Dumbledore sat forward in his chair, a very serious expression on his face, "Miss Granger," he started, "By what I have seen in this letter and the information you've relayed to me, my trust in you is established. It is still a fledgling of a thing, easily breakable, but still in existence- not to worry, " he clarified for her, and his reason was sound, "But… this letter mentioned something to me that I'd like to clarify with you."

"Of course, sir." Hermione readied herself.

"You are also here to care for Professor Snape, yes?"

"Yes, sir. He will need help while he's a spy."

"Naturally. A pity he didn't have it in your original timeline," Dumbledore concurred, "When do you wish to move into Professor Snape's quarters, exactly?"

Ah, there it was- the question she'd been waiting for. "As soon as possible, sir." She responded.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled as a smile broadened his features, "I thought so," he chirped, "Do you know why I asked, Miss Granger?"

Hermione already knew, the moment the second question was out of his mouth. She nodded, "I believe so, sir."

"My letter says, here, that you wished to move in with Severus once he becomes a spy for the Order," Dumbledore looked into his spectacles to peer at the letter again, "Yet it continues to add that that my portrait self believes this to be a statement built for the use of a technicality, since he was a spy for the Order starting before the end of the first war against Voldemort. Am I to presume this notion correct?"

There was no point in lying to who was probably the smartest wizard alive, "Yes, sir."

"Hm," he gave a small, quick nod to the parchment as he set it down, "In confidentiality, Miss Granger," he leaned forward once more, lowering his voice slightly in the process "This letter also gives me reason to believe that it will be beneficial for you to move in with Severus immediately also, so I am inclined to grant your request. Though we will have to persuade Severus into this scheme as well."

Hermione wiggled in her seat, "Of course, sir. But may I ask," she looked down to the letter and back up to twinkling blue eyes, "On what authority do you agree with me upon?"

Dumbledore twinkled at her again before answering, "Upon my own, Miss Granger. Though, it seems, my portrait's opinion was based on evidence that Severus's own portrait gave to me. So I may have had some outside influence."

Hermione gave a slow nod in response, her mind reeling from Dumbledore's answer. After another quick moment of silence, the Headmaster called Snape back into the room, who swept in, robes billowing as always, and stood behind the chair he had sat in, looking between the Headmaster and Hermione.

"It's been concluded, Severus," Dumbledore announced, "The girl moves into your chambers tonight."

"_What?_" Snape sounded as though he'd suddenly grown nauseous, "What one earth is the meaning of that?"

"She needs to be monitored so that our trust in her can be fully manifested," Dumbledore supplied quickly, "I also have it on good faith that it would be beneficial to you, sooner rather than later, to have her living in the same space as yourself."

"Those are _my private chambers_, Albus!" Snape snapped savagely, "I do not want them invaded!"

"Miss Granger will stay out of your personal space. A bedroom has already been prepared for her."

Hermione was confused at this, but Snape's face only paled further, "That _extra room_ is my _study, _old man! If you screw with…"

Dumbledore held up a hand to still Snape's tongue and replied calmly with, "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus. I command this castle, which also happens to be enchanted to do as I bid it. You _should_ be pleased to realize that a room has been added to your chambers, Severus; a bedroom meant for occupancy by Miss Granger."

Hermione was slightly impressed. She didn't remember Minerva ever pulling stunts like that, but Snape merely scoffed in disdain before sweeping away angrily towards the door. Hermione chanced a glance at the Headmaster, who winked at her with a nod, before turning back to follow Snape. Before she could reach him, he whipped around so suddenly that Hermione flinched, hopping back a step as Snape leveled a sinister glare at Dumbledore, then pointed a bony finger at him, "We have just met this girl. If I see anything or even _suspect_ her allegiance is with the wrong side, I will not be held responsible for the consequences."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, "Of course, Severus."

"If she becomes more of a burden than a help, she'll be sent to you. I will have no part of her scheme thereafter."

"As you wish."

Snape lowered his finger, turned his glare from Dumbledore from Hermione, who nodded her understanding, then billowed out of the office to the staircase. Hermione caught the heavy door before Snape could slam it on her, and walked out, taking a deep breath as she began to descend the staircase herself.

Snape left her in the dust. She could see his form far ahead of her once she got to the bottom of the staircase and the gargoyles shifted to guard it once again. He was practically running back to the dungeons, which she supposed would help him burn off some steam- God knew he needed it. Hermione wasn't sure how she was going to be able to live with the man if he was this angry all the time. She hoped he had good days, but she yet to ever see him have one… except when he was a portrait. The thought of how radically different the portrait of Severus Snape had been compared to the man stomping at full speed back to the dungeons. The Severus she knew from the portrait had good days, at least. He'd managed to be cordial to her, he'd ask her about her day, even going as far to ask about her nightmares- to nearly _care_ about her and the way her life was going- he'd even managed to sneak in a first-name-basis with her before she'd gone back in time. As for the Snape that had just indirectly threatened her in the Headmaster's office… well, she didn't expect much. She stiffened her resolve once more as she descended the last set of stairs that would lead her to the dungeon hall, feeling the temperature drop the deeper into the castle she walked. She knew she was here to help him, and he would need it. Within the next few months, Snape would be attacked by Fluffy in the third floor corridor, and he wouldn't see Madam Pomfrey about it either, judging by how excessive his limp was and for how long he'd had it. She didn't want to get in his way, and she needed to make sure he'd know that.

She opened the door to Snape's quarters tentatively, not wanting to startle him if he was in the sitting room. She didn't see him in the sitting room as she walked in, so she closed the door behind her quietly. She devised that he had retired to bed, too worn out from his day and from the night's events to bother saying goodnight or to even wait until she returned. Yet as she turned around from the door to walk down the hallway, she was ambushed.

So he _hadn't_ gone to bed.

He grabbed her by the collar of her robes and crushed her into the wall next to the door, knocking the wind out of her lungs. The snarl on his face was certainly not friendly, though it didn't seem as severe as the snarls she'd been getting from him thus far. That had to be a plus. However, he was only a few inches from her face and had lifted her far enough into the air that she had to be on tiptoes so she wouldn't be hanging from his hands alone- he was much stronger than he looked. She could feel his warm breath, a shocking contrast to the cold, sharp air around her, as their eyes leveled with each other.

"Listen here, Miss Granger," his voice rumbled ominously, "I am not nearly as trusting as the old man, nor do I take lightly to your ambush into my life.' _Clearly_, Hermione thought, "I don't want my space invaded, I want you to keep to yourself and not _consistently_ interrupt my thoughts or bother me while I'm working, is that _crystalline _clear?"

Hermione nodded as best as she could.

He gave her a fresh shove against the wall and added, "And I do not care about whatever kind of _relationship_ we had in your timeline," he sneered, but his comment made Hermione's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "This is _my_ timeline. I do not want it to be meddled with by some ignorant girl who walks in here and thinks she knows how to 'help the anti-war effort', as you so _delicately_ put it, and I _certainly_ do not need you doting over me just because you have watched me die, is that _also_ clear, Miss Granger?"

Hermione felt the blood leave her face as she forced another muted nod. He let her drop to the floor, which she did with a huff. _How much did he put in that letter?_ Her mind was whirling as much as Snape's robes were while he stomped into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. She heard the click of a lock from the hallway as she prayed that Severus hadn't written about her nightmares. She shook herself out of her state and walked down the corridor to her bedroom, which was a newly added door at the end of the hallway on the left, next to the bathroom. When she walked in she found it was quite similar to her room that she'd shared with the girls in her year when she was a student, only with all the space to herself. She had a luxurious king size four-poster all to herself, with two bedside tables, a dresser, vanity, and a closet. There was even a bookshelf on the opposite wall to the door, and beside it stood a desk, prepped and ready for use. She wasn't sure what she'd be using a desk for anymore, she wasn't a teacher or a student any longer, but she knew she'd find at least one good use for it.

As she opened her bag and began to unpack, she thought back on something Snape had said to her before he mentioned his death: _And I do not care about whatever kind of _relationship_ we had in your timeline. _What on earth had that meant? Relationship? As far as Hermione was aware, she had only managed to become friends with Professor Snape, and even then the use of the word was flexible. She certainly had cared about him, to the point where she was going to miss him now that he was no longer at his disposal, but she had only been on a speaking basis with Severus's portrait for about two months- there hadn't been much time to develop any true kind of tight-knit friendship. The way Snape had spat the word made Hermione think that he thought they had been close, and that he very clearly did not want the same kind of connection with her.

_Pity, though, _Hermione thought as she put away the last of her belongings, _It nearly seems inevitable, since he is, after all, nearly the same man._

With that, Hermione put on a clean pair of pyjamas and went into the bathroom to clean herself for bed. She settled into bed that night feeling the weight of slumber settle dreamily onto her eyelids, lulling her into sleep… The thought of taking her usual cap of Dreamless Sleep having completely slipped her fatigue-addled mind.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

**A/N: We've finally gotten a look at Severus! I've taken a little time out of writing this fic to do some research on Severus in the original books and some movie clips to make sure I felt comfortable enough writing him, though I doubt I ever truly will, but I'll be doing my best to pay proper tribute. I'm starting in on finals week at my university, so no updates for the rest of the week, however I'll be free for the summer afterwards and regular updates will commence! As for the balance between Hermione and Severus, for those of you interested: this is going to be a slowburn, if you haven't guessed yet. Snape wasn't ready for Hermione to drop into his life as she did, so he's going to need some adjustment time. Not only that, but being as finicky as he is, it's going to be a bit of challenge for Hermione to befriend him as she did his portrait. Also, their relationship, as I've started to set up a lil bit, is going to be respect and honesty based, as well as a product of choice rather than circumstance. The reason behind his anger will be a lead into why this is an angsty fic, in case any of you are concerned about him being too stubborn to her in the future. I want them to grow together as people rather than they just blindly fall head over heels and have it somehow turn out alright. That said, I'm glad that a lot of you have liked the set up for them in previous chapters, so keep me posted on how you're liking it now! I read all comments and reviews, and I'm so thankful to everyone who's taken the time to let me know what they think! It's given me SO much drive to continue. **

**Last thing: extra HUGE thanks to all of y'all who got me to 69 follows on 4/20. Honestly… it made my week xD**

**Have a good day, enjoy some snacks, stay hydrated, and happy reading!**

**-Cherry**


	6. Chapter 5: Comes Worry & Perspective

**A/N: Adult content warning: adult language and a one-person shower scene in this one, folks. Don't like it, don't read it. :)**

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

Chapter 5

...Comes Worry and Perspective

His shower was his sanctuary.

Severus's night had gone from bad to worse, which could only be expected from the fucked up existence he typically lived. When he had gotten back to his rooms, at long _fucking_ last, he had immediately gone into the bath to take a shower. He needed it terribly. As the water heated, he went to the small bar he had stocked in his sitting room and poured himself a brandy, swishing the liquor around in his glass before letting the liquid pour down his throat and warm him from the inside out. He relaxed into the soothing burn in his throat before he stripped and got under the equally soothing warm water. Like the other staff and prefect baths, his shower was large and roomy, several spouts spewing water from different directions onto the stone that layers the walls and ground. He had several different types of shampoo that he used simultaneously, as well as a couple different conditioners. Having been made fun of the majority of his life for having greasy hair, he had taken great lengths to ebb away the grease. Thankfully, once he was out of puberty's range his locks regained some normalcy, but he still had to fight fairly hard to keep his hair looking normal. At the end of every day, he'd take a warm shower and wash his hair carefully, and when he woke the next morning his head would look normal. Yet that never seemed to stop his plight completely- it seemed the longer his days became, the more greasy his hair would become.

He hated it.

As he washed out the last of his third bout of shampooing, he decided his plan for the night- he was going to give himself a moment to relax. After learning about the Potter boy coming into his Beginning Potions class after one of the most boring staff meetings that Dumbledore had ever held, he knew he would need it. All he wanted to do was enjoy the sensation of the warm water spilling over his skin, cleanse himself, then sit down by his fireplace and enjoy a good, light book before tucking himself into his warm bed.

The sensation of the water spilling over his skin loosened his muscles and let his mind run away from its tightly-kept prison. Normally, Severus was _very_ careful about where his thoughts would roam, he kept his mind like a tightly-running ship- controlling his emotions and disciplining his mind had become common practice for him after designating himself to be a spy for the old croc- but his hours in the shower were the only time where he would truly allow himself to relax. And with that relaxation… well, he was a single, 30-something man. What could one expect?

He never got the chance to hire what he would call "assistance" during the school year, unless he met someone willing somewhere in Hogsmeade during an outing, so naturally his time alone in the shower was paramount in his day, not just for rigorous cleansing, but for personal enjoyment. He tilted his head back as he let water spill over his nude form, warming his skin as he imagined some faceless woman running her hands over him wherever he felt contact against his skin. It wasn't the same as a real woman, no, and it certainly wasn't the same as if _her_ hands were running over his body, but he tried not to think about that. He lowered his hands to himself and felt himself become rigid in his palm, stroking in a pleasant rhythm. He let his mind roam to the pleasantries of fantasy as his hand began to stroke with more purpose, his rhythm quickening. He felt the coil within his lower abdomen tighten as his drive for release propelled him deeper into his erotic thoughts. He imagined a mouth closing over his cock, sucking him in identical strokes as his hand was now. He was getting closer. His breathing was erratic as he imagined the last sexual encounter he'd had, the woman from the bar outside of Spinner's End, how her tight quim had felt as he plunged into it, how her moans and screams lit up the pleasure center of his brain from the pillow in which he face was buried.

A thud. His eyes opened. His hand stilled.

He didn't hear another sound, but he knew he had heard the first. It had come from the other side of the wall, in the sitting room. He cursed himself for being as attentive as he was. True, it was necessary, but interruptions, especially in a key part of his nightly routine, were not appreciated. He listened for a few more moments before deciding he would investigate. It didn't take much to ruin the mood for him, though it did make his reactions to said interruptions much more explosive if he were caught at the proper moment. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the intruder for that exact reason- he would have someone to take his anger out on. He turned the water off with a squeak and dried himself off quickly, wrapping his torso up in a towel, his cock now almost completely flaccid as his blood left it once again. He still didn't hear anything, though he supposed he'd better check anyways. With a final growl he left the bathroom, ready to scare the living hell out of whoever dared disturb him with the sight of his pale, angry body clad in nothing but a towel.

He turned towards the sitting room and froze as a young woman did the same, holding up what he recognized to be an invisibility cloak over her head, like she was about to place it on herself again. He had stared at her in absolute shock, though he tried to only let his initial rage show, and he supposed she was also staring for a similar reason. A young woman in his chambers… whom he had never seen before. The thought nearly had him brace himself against the wall, but he forced himself to remain composed. Not only that, but she was pretty… beautiful even. She had large brown eyes like a calf, and curly hair of the same color. Her pale skin glowed elegantly in the firelight from the fireplace, her lithe fairly athletic form visible underneath her black and deep red robes, a professionally deep V-neck showing off the beginning of the mounds that formed her breasts. It almost as if her very presence were seducing him…

But that didn't change the fact that she was an intruder.

Severus leapt back into action, shaking himself of his inappropriate thoughts- which he had already chalked up to being due to his lack of climax in the shower- just as she revolved back to the land of the living herself. He summoned his wand with his dominant hand and pointed it at her, where she was now wandless with her hands in the air, looking quite scared.

_You'd better be_, he'd thought.

She'd introduced herself as Hermione Granger, and oddly elegant yet official name, in his opinion. She appeared to know him, even though he had no idea who she could possibly be, save for her name. She was also very afraid of him, which gave him some power-footing at least. However, there had been that assessment of him- the way her eyes drifted across his face, skimmed over his Mark, and then began to fall lazily down until she was nearly ogling the very part of his body that she'd disrupted the most when she made that first thud into his sitting room. The look in her eyes was practically hungry, and in that moment Severus nearly rolled his eyes, recognizing the situation as something akin to a muggle pornography video. And yet, his still-untamed libido was more than happy to have her look so hungrily in that area so desperately far below his face. Perhaps, in some alternate reality, she could simply be some wandering girl who happened to magic herself into his rooms for the sole purpose of seducing him, bringing him to bed with her and... so forth.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, instead replaced by pure embarrassment on the woman's part as she began to blush deeply, highlighted by the glow from the fireplace. Severus regained himself, willing the blood that was beginning to flow back into his lower region to ebb back into the rest of his body. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice. That's when she'd said she was from the future, and his thoughts immediately went from the lewd to the woman standing before him- a liar. He nearly hexed her until she mentioned the letter in her bag, which he summoned with ease. She had watched him while he read, which he wasn't sure if he liked much or was even comfortable with. The letter, however, had been simple, short to the point.

Oh, and written by his dead self from a portrait.

"_To the Half-Blood Prince, _

"_Could we have concocted a more ludicrous title? I'm sure the Dark Lord is the only one to top our bullshit. "_

And there it was, the proof the woman, Granger, was talking about. Nobody ever knew about the title of the Half-Blood Prince except Lily, who had mocked him in good nature for it, yet in his older years he had become much more critical of himself for the title. It made sense that his future self would used that title as proof enough that the girl wasn't lying. But could she be trusted?

"_I am writing from the frame of a portrait that was hung in your classroom. I am you, as you know, but from the future. The following will be news, but digest it carefully, as events will decidedly be shifted in your timeline compared to mine once Hermione appears before you. I died on May the second of 1998 by the Dark Lord's command, specifically his wretched snake, Nagini's, bite. He will return in Harry Potter's fourth year, the night of the final stage of the Triwizard Tournament. You will know specifics when the time comes. Hermione is in your time, in her words, to save the people who will be lost to the war over its course, however she will do by eliminating the Dark Lord entirely, or by at least weakening him. She has enough knowledge to do so, and she will tell you of her plan in time- give her such."_

_Hermione, eh?_ Severus thought, _First name basis. Worthy of note, at least. _No one, save for Albus, Lily, his parents, and a few members of the staff at Hogwarts were on a first name basis with Severus throughout his lifetime. To be that close to the woman… well, it was too early to make any guesses, even educated ones.

"_Hermione is exceptionally smart and strategic, as you will soon know. She is known to be the brightest witch of her age. She is a Gryffindor, likely enough, but don't let it fool you- she's not like the rest of them. She uses her bravery wisely, and she is smart enough to know when to be properly scared. Additionally, she is wise enough to know how to use her mind and logic in situations where she is properly scared. A trait you will learn to appreciate in others apart from yourself. _

"_She will be a first year come the first of September. She will be in your Beginning Potions class with the Slytherins on Fridays, the best student in her class by far. She will not be very likeable in her younger years, but I assure you she is not the person you would think her to be. She is very academic, becoming one of the most advanced students you will teach and eventually becoming Head Girl. In many ways she is like us: unaccepted, booksmart, logical, meticulous, and academically inclined in every sense of the word. Unlike us, she will get lucky and find good friends in her house. Ironically, one of them is Harry Potter. The other is Ronald Weasley. The three of them will manage to find themselves in heaps of trouble starting the moment they all become friends, when a troll is released into the second floor corridor and finds its way into the girls' bathroom, where Hermione will be. Potter and Weasley will find her, only to ignorantly believe that they will be able to take down the menace. Due to nothing but pure luck, they manage the task. Hermione will lie for them in order to keep them from detention- which is very characteristic of her, to put her neck on the line or to sacrifice herself for the sake of those she cares for. She is also an advocate for those less admired in wizarding society- she will create the movement of S.P.E.W. , which is the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, to free house elves from enslavement (she is still stubborn to the notion that many of them enjoy their work to a degree). She will also be a thorn in your side over helping a boy named Neville Longbottom in Potions, whom she will constantly attempt to aid during class. I could continue, but that would be a waste of parchment. You will understand all soon enough. To add, if you mention any of these facts or events in the slightest to her, she is bound to fill in the blank for you completely without prompting. She is quite desperate to please her superiors, especially her professors, and you will still be one of them in her eyes, despite her being three years out of school."_

_Great. A know-it-all, _Severus hummed in his head. However, the next few words caught his attention as he shifted his thumb up to continue reading for the rest of the page and over onto the other side of the parchment.

"_All of this said, I do request this of you, as I know exactly who you are in your time: be gentle with her, to the best of your ability. She will take adjusting to, and she is aware that we do not take to sudden demands, such as a young woman suddenly dropping into our rooms and requiring to stay near us for the next seven or so years…"_

_SEVEN years? _Severus huffed as he read, though it didn't seem all that ludicrous of a demand. If they were talking about the Dark Lord, then they needed all the time they could find.

"_...but you need to do your best. Hermione is an excellent resource to you. She has proven to me to be valid and often pleasant company in the right circumstances, and I give you good faith that she can be the same for you if you let her. There are several things you must keep in mind while conversing or living with her. The first is that due to the fact that she is brilliant, you do not have to explain much to her, however you will need to shut her up from time to time. Try your best to be gentle with her in those moments, she wishes to do good by you."_

_Then she may as well just do good so I don't have to criticize her harshly, _Snape raised an eyebrow slightly before continuing.

"_Second, she has seen a war. The war that she fought in was worse than the first, and Voldemort sought after her and the rest of the trio specifically. She's a muggleborn…"_

Snape felt his mouth go dry. How perfect. The version of him that wrote that had befriended a muggleborn… perhaps his situation was less of a pornographic nature and more like those sappy muggle romance novels found in drug stores, then? A poor, helpless romantic man torn between the memory of the muggleborn he loved and the muggleborn who stands anew before him… He nearly gagged, but continued reading anyways.

"_And she was hunted for it. She witnessed many deaths, including ours. It harmed her, as wars tend to do to people. Do not press her for information about her experiences, have faith that she will tell you when necessary. Third, she will need to use the brewing area in the study for her own work. She will keep the majority of her work in her room, she has assured me, but she needs a brewing station. She is excellent at potion making and will take proper care of your instruments. Fourth, she knows about our history in general, and with that she knows about Lily. It became public knowledge after the war following our death. She will not bring it up, she has yet to even mention it to me as it is, so you may trust her to keep your secret and not be obnoxious. Fifth is most important…"_

Snape squinted at the text before his eyes widened slightly at the words he read.

"_...she lost someone during her war much like we lost Lily during ours. It is this that drives her. She and you are exactly the same in that regard: you fight in honor of those that you lost. However, she has the opportunity, now, to save them from death. Do not get in her way. Under NO circumstances are you to mention that I told you this fifth fact- it is to be kept under proper secrecy unless she relates to you the circumstances surrounding this event. She suffers greatly, _exactly_ as you do. Do not underestimate my claims, and do not ignore them. It is paramount that she is able to trust you during her time. She sees you as a figure to look up to, someone to impress and please. Do not disappoint her more than I already have."_

Snape looked up at the Granger girl, whose hands were still above her head, and she watched as he looked over her. She was more than met the eye. Now that he looked at her, he could see the fading signs of dark circles and bags under her eyes, the slight translucency to her skin.

_Nightmares._ She likely had Dreamless Sleeps and Calming Draughts to help her when she woke from them, he figured. Another reason for her to have personal access to his study's brewing station, she'll need to brew her own potions. He already decided not to get in her way… as long as she didn't get in his.

"_There is one last thing you need to know before you start your journey with this young woman. Though she is strong, independent and headstrong, she longs to help more than anything else. She's going to want to help you, in particular. Dumbledore will use you as a spy for the Order once more, and she knows this. In my time, I was in charge of taking care of myself. The Dark Lord grew more violent as Harry Potter grew stronger- there is great pain and stress to be experienced. I tended to myself in those final years, but you do not have to suffer a similar fate. _

"_Hermione will be there for you, every step of the way. She understands nuances to your situation, unlike others who will claim they do. Please, let her help. Let her be close to you. Allow her freedom to you, when you feel comfortable enough to do so. I guarantee you won't regret it. _

"_You understand the rules surrounding portraits and their relations to real people. I knew Hermione in my life before being a piece of a painted canvas, and my view of her was not high. However, since beginning to watch her and know her better, my opinion of her has vastly changed. We were not close friends, or even very cordial in life, but in death, I became closer to her than practically anyone else. I do not know what her views of me are, save for her unyielding respect, which, I regret to say, I am humbled by. _

"_I have full faith that were I alive and knew her as I do now, she would mean more to me than a new and truly good friend or colleague. You, however, are still alive. If you allow it, you will see what I mean. _

"_Take good care of Hermione, and let her do the same for you. _

"_As always, _

"_Headmaster Severus Snape"_

Snape hadn't let his confused and practically raging emotions show on his face to the girl. Instead he decided to quiz her, which she passed, naturally. She seemed smarter than other Gryffindors, and she did seem to at least have a healthy amount of respect and fear for himself, which he was grateful for. However, that didn't stop him from remembering the words in the letter. He knew what they meant.

His portrait had _liked_ her. He'd had hope that his self from the past would grow close to Hermione just as he had, and perhaps he hoped there could be more between them

Well, not _perhaps_. It was clear the old fool that his future self would become had _wanted_ him to fall for her. And it made him more raging mad than even the girl's intrusion did. What a sick joke, to be thrown a young woman and told to be kind to her, to not judge her, to basically treat her like royalty with no real grounds for such treatment save a pretty face and a well-worded letter, and then told that if he did so he would _like _her- possibly even _love_ her.

He had not let his rage completely control him, though he did let his strict side of his persona show to the girl, to which she readily responded in the exact way he expected her to. Scared, with a hint of indignancy. He had gone into his room change into real clothes, which he had been missing since the moment he'd lain eyes on the girl that had magicked herself into his sitting room, after ordering her to remain on the couch, out of reach of her wand. He would have no tricks played on him.

He had shut the door to his room, then immediately slumped against the wall beside it so the girl wouldn't hear his weariness in the creak of the oak that separated them. He could not be wrestled into a conclusion that a girl he had just met mere moments before could be, dare he say it, a friend- not even if his future self was certain she would be such. He had to pull himself away from the wall to dress, making sure to dry his hair with a quick drying charm before he put on his new robes. No matter how pretty the face or convincing the letter, he would not allow himself to succumb to anything less than his own judgement.

And she was going to have to settle.

After forcing her to take him to yet another grueling meeting with those bastard twinkling eyes, he had heard enough. Not only was he going to deal with the girl, but he had to deal with her living in _his_ rooms, and by the nature of the conversation between little chit and the Headmaster, that decision had not been agreed to by his past self, either. And then he was fuming again, the spark of rage reignited by the potency of conspiracy. He waited to ambush the girl as she came into his quarters, where her new room had magically come into place by order of the Headmaster, and snatched her just as she shut the door.

The threat had been easily made, and skillfully delivered, and it give him exactly what he wanted: leverage. He saw the surprise in Miss Granger's eyes as he slammed her against the wall, the ignition of her mind as she processed everything that he was saying, and the confusion tinted with doubtful fear when he mentioned them possibly having some sort of established relationship- he had caught her severely off her guard with that one.

It was by her reaction that he came to the conclusion that he had not turned sappy in his old age and lusted after one younger than himself, by the look in her eyes she wasn't even sure there was any kind of establishment of any kind of relationship between her and his future self. He understood the nature of their relationship had been, eventually, professional. Any sense of friendship, felt either by himself or by them both, was not told to the other, at least. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry terribly much about establishing any type of set of boundaries with the chit- perhaps they were already in place.

_Unless you grow sappy in your old age,_ a voice nagged at him from the back of his head, _Unless you grow weak._

He had stormed into his bedroom after dropping the girl back down to the ground roughly, leaving her for the night. He locked and warded his door, for extra protection in case she decided to ambush him in the night, in case she was a threat after all, but listened to her move about as he prepared for bed. He heard her unpack her belongings, floating them into place when necessary (from her bag which he assumed had been charmed by an undetectable extension charm- ingenious, he must admit) as he began the extensive project of unbuttoning his robes to undress. He put on his nightshirt and pants, which he normally would never wear, as he preferred to sleep in only boxers, but decided to add the extra clothing in case the girl found herself in a situation which required his action or assistance, and slipped into the covers of his bed. By that point, she had moved into the bathroom and prepared herself for bed. He pulled open a book, _The History of Dark Magic and Lasting Effects on the Body_, as he heard her vigorously brush her teeth and wash her face. He finally saw the lights go out from under his door, and heard the door to the girl's room shut as she headed to sleep. He let out a breath at the sound- one that, hopefully, promised him peaceful night ahead.

He read through his book for several chapters, giving him an hours worth of reading time, before his thoughts overwhelmed his mind and blocking out the text on the pages. He pulled out the letter that he had received from his past self and read over it again… and again… and again. He died the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but under what conditions? He becomes a spy and suffers for it, but for what recognition? He died on May second by the Dark Lord's command of his snake, but where did he ever get a snake? And what made the Dark Lord kill him again? Was he found to be a spy? Did he out himself? Was he betrayed? Was… was it part of the plan? He shivered at the thought- it wouldn't be unlike Dumbledore to come up with a plan that required Severus to give his life, just another pawn in Dumbledore's real-time game of wizard's chess.

And the girl… she was a case altogether. She had chosen to come back in time to stop the Dark Lord in an attempt to save the lives of those who died for their cause. And yet, for whatever reason, she wasn't telling him the whole story. It didn't make sense to Severus to have someone, no matter how knowledgeable, go back in time to possibly damage a timeline of events that already _insured_ the Dark Lord's ultimate demise. If she damaged the timeline, as it appeared she would judging by the conversation they'd had in Dumbledore's office, she therefore damaged the odds of the Dark Lord's downfall. Why would anyone allow that? Why would anyone ask for more?

Then he remembered something that Miss Granger had said in the meeting with the Headmaster: that he, Severus Snape, had been the one to discover the time traveling potions and worked on them with McGonagall, even past his own demise. He knew _exactly_ what would drive him to experiment with such a thing. _Lily_. He had wanted to go back in time to save Lily. But alas, he was dead before he ever got the chance.

So what made him want to give that chance to somebody else?

_She lost someone during her war much like we lost Lily during ours. _

_It is this that drives her._

So that was it… he wanted to give the chance to save the life of the one she loved, whoever that was. He wanted to give her the opportunity he never got. He had seen her suffering, judging by the way she was described in the letter, and he had known. He had recognized her pain.

The thing was, despite his seeing her dark circles and pale skin for himself, he saw no signs of the suffering that she had apparently went through. Perhaps she was masking it, or perhaps she didn't feel it anymore- she had moved on.

_That must be nice,_ he thought.

He set the letter down, hoping to gain some peace of mind through sleep as he switched off his bedside light and lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling. However, just as the rest of the night had not favored him, sleep seemed to be equal upon that field.

It was nearing one hour after he had turned off his light when he decided to retrieve a Dreamless Sleep potion from the cabinet in the bathroom. He had a small cupboard next to the door that he stored almost all of his potions in, save for stashes of pain relievers, blood replenishers and Dittany that he had hidden amongst his rooms in case of an emergency. He peeled himself out of his warm sheets, wand in hand, and treadded over to the door, unwarding it with a quick flick of his wrist. He quietly tiptoed into the hallway, in hopes that the girl would not wake or hear him. The floorboards beneath his feet were cold to the touch, and the chilly night air of the dungeons gave him goosebumps, despite his, now years, worth of acclimation to the cold and sometimes damp atmosphere. He neared the bathroom door and slowly pushed the door open, careful to gauge the creaking of the hinges to make the process as silent as possible. He lit his wand and squatted next to the small potions cupboard and retrieved a Dreamless, standing to begin his trek back into his room.

It was then that Severus picked up on a sound that echoed through the dungeon walls, and he pricked his ears to be sure he had heard right. Sure enough, as he leaned forward against the bathroom wall, the one that separated Miss Granger's new room from the very room he stood in, he heard the definite sound of sobbing coming from the other side. He didn't feel surprised or guilty or sad or remorseful at the sound- not even angry. He was too neutral towards the girl as it was. And besides, her bedtime qualms were not his to worry about, her business was her own- and not only did that not require him to take action, he didn't want to, either.

Just as carefully as he had entered, he removed himself from the bathroom, _nox_-ing his wand as he did, and left the door cracked, returning to his own room, grumbling as he did so. Why should the chit sob as much as she was? What gave her the right? She voluntarily chose to come here, but he was the one stuck with a constant intruder in his chambers, helpless to remove her as it seemed. She already knew her new roommate- she had known him in her past life. But him? He was not so fortunate. He knew nothing about the girl save for that she was yet another hateful Gryffindor who apparently his old self grew attached to in some way, but only after his death. She had not been good enough for him to like in life. She shouldn't be the one sobbing into her pillow in the night, no matter how many hardships she'd seen. He was the one who had suffered and would continue to suffer- he should be the one to…

He stopped in his tracks, his hand on the hall-side doorknob to his room, when he heard the girl gasp from the other side of her door, followed by the immediate and quick rustling of sheets. He waited, readying his wand in case the girl tried any tricks, and watched the door. He heard something move across wood, likely her bedside table, followed by silence. _She had sat straight up in bed, _Severus wagered. Perhaps she had heard him? Perhaps she was the melodramatic type that sat up in bed as they sobbed, to better make a show of themself to the empty room that surrounded them. But, his letter had said she had nightmares, and he had seen the obvious effects of sleep deprivation on her face earlier. Perhaps, then, she had been crying in her sleep? That could be a likely answer. Or, and this was just as likely, she was beginning to dislike her choice in a roommate after his brisk treatment of her before he had retired. He was not exactly hospitable, nor kind (though he did view his treatment of a sudden intruder in his rooms at an ungodly hour to be that of the somewhat forgiving variety), and she had likely forgotten during her time with his betamed portraiture. He had clearly grown a bit soft in his old age, or at least during his time in a frame, and perhaps she had replaced his true self with that of his new in her mind, causing her to make choices that otherwise would not be suitable for herself.

He grumbled to himself again, nothing intelligible but rather a discrete huff of indignation. He turned the knob and entered his room again, still attempting to be silent, but not quite as much as before. He locked his door and reset his wards, returning to his bed and unstoppering the phial in the process. He slipped between the sheets, downing the potion in one gulp and made himself comfortable. He could see for himself what the case was in the morning, no matter the cause or outcome.

He began to drift into the sweet comforts of a dreamless sleep as his thoughts drifted off. The sleepier part of him, the part that was growing, openly admitted to himself that he hoped the girl could grow to not be so repulsed of his company. The other part, the part more prominent in his wake self, and the part that was dimming to the lull of sleep, told him that the girl's issues were not his problem.

He wouldn't be awake to hear the sound of a new sobbing that began in the girl's room, the space between the heaves letting out mournful calls of his name, one which had belonged to a dead man not minutes before.

**~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~SSHG~**

**A/N: Hey y'all! Hope you guys enjoyed this little glimpse into Severus's mind. I was little nervous about this one, mostly due to the content of the letter, but here it is. I'm out of finals week, so regular updates are back on track! That said, I'll be out of town on vacation for the next week or so, and while I do plan on updating again within the next week, things may get hectic. **

**Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews as well as all the faves and follows! I read all the reviews and they truly make my day! With that, don't hesitate to leave some more and tell me your feedback- I love hearing what you all think! **

**Enjoy your day, no matter the weather, stay hydrated, and good reading!**

**-Cherry**


End file.
